


Dances In Darkness - Book 1: Eideann

by HigheverRains



Series: Dances In Darkness [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age II Spoilers, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 94,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigheverRains/pseuds/HigheverRains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am a Grey Warden. I don’t get involved in politics,” Duncan said. She looked at him then, her eyes dark.</p><p>“A foolish thing to say. The Wardens are always political, whether you like it or not. You don’t have a choice.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Violence

It was a cool wind that brushed through her hair as she made her way across the flagstones of the castle yard. She could smell rain in it, the usual rain that poured down on the green and rocky hills along the Storm Coast. There along the Waking Sea, the rain always fell, and fog curled about the battered shores with a frequency that drove the fisherman mad. At the mouth of Highever Quay, a great lighthouse burned night and day, summoning ships with Orlesian silks and Antivan spices into port. The castle stood above the wooden Ship District, solemn and gray in against the dark sky.

In the kennels nearby she could hear the dogs barking. The stables were not far, and out in the courtyard before the great gates was the gathered military might of Highever. War had come to Ferelden, deep in the Wilds to the south, a new Blight some whispered, and King Cailin had struck the banners to end it. Her father and her brother prepared to ride to war.

Eideann would not be going. She stepped into the stone halls of Castle Cousland as the first of the raindrops began to fall, sprinkling the cobbles with dark splotches and ringing like tin bells on the armor of the gathered men. She should be there among them, armed and armored herself. She had proven her skills many times over the years, and her father grudgingly admitted he had the wherewithal to track even on the Storm Coast. Instead, she wore a gown of deep crushed velvet, green like the hills of Highever, and found herself glad for its warmth as another gust of cold sea air washed over her from the port.

The gates were ajar from all the comings and goings, so it was an easy thing to slip unnoticed into the fire-lit Great Hall. Her father stood at the far end with Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine, surrounded by Amaranthine’s banner men, the sigil of the brown bear clear on their shields. Howe had arrived just that morning, and the intention was that he rode south when the army left today. Or such had been the plan. As Eideann crossed towards them, crushed velvet skirts dragging on the plush blue carpets, she heard Arl Howe apologize for his men. It seemed they were late.

Her father Teyrn Bryce Cousland was no longer the young man who had battled the Orlesians two decades prior. His blond hair was graying with age, and wrinkles had begun to form about his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. He still had the Cousland gaze, though, deep blue the color of rain and the sea itself. Others sometimes called it Cousland Blue. Those eyes slipped past Howe and his apologies and fixed on Eideann as she approached. He stepped down off the dais where the fire flickered to meet her.

“Ah Pup,” he said, taking her hand to introduce her. “You remember Arl Howe?”

“My Lord,” Eideann said softly, giving a small bow of head. If she were anyone else’s daughter, she would never have been allowed just that and no curtsy, but the Teyrns were only a step below the royal house itself. Eideann was granted certain rights for that matter of birth, and since she had little love of Arl Howe, she was careful to maintain such a distance around him. He knew it too.

“My son Thomas asked after you,” he said with a twisting little smile at the understanding. “Perhaps I should bring him next time.”

“To what end?” Eideann said softly, a smile on her lips. All political pleasantries between them, as ever. Howe saw her as a means to empower himself, as so many others had. Eideann had learned long ago to step warily about such men.

For his part, Howe barked a laugh this time. Bryce Cousland just shook his head.

“You see what I contend with, Howe? There is no telling my fierce daughter anything.” He motioned to a guard, then turned to her. “Come, Pup, there is someone you must meet.”

The man who crossed the hall was clad in sturdy armor of silverite, blue-dyed leather, and iron studwork. He had the dark complexion of the Rivaini, but a softness that made him appear warm, despite being armed to the teeth. Eideann did give him a curtsy.

“This is Warden-Commander Duncan. He is here recruiting before joining us in the south. I believe he has his eye on Ser Gilmore,” Bryce Cousland told her. Eideann smiled, and Duncan bent to kiss her hand gently before glancing to the Teyrn.

“If I may be so bold,” he said carefully, “I would suggest you daughter here would be an excellent candidate.” Eideann felt a thrill go through her, realizing suddenly how hungry she was for such recognition. Bryce Cousland had a different idea. He put himself between them defensively.

“Honor though that may be, this is my daughter we are speaking about,” he said a little more fiercely than necessary. Eideann’s eyes slid to the back of her father’s head a moment.

“And why shouldn’t I join them?” She was the second child. Fergus, her elder brother, was the heir, and he already had a wife and son of his own, effectively shutting her out of any contention. Eideann had the skills to do a service to the Wardens, she knew. At the last tournament, much to her mother’s chagrin, she had dressed in leathers and entered the competition. And she had won the dual-wield melee, or would have, if Bryce Cousland had not hauled her from the ring and sent her back to the castle in a rage. Her skills were exceptional. Her father shot her a dark look now, no doubt recalling the same incident, and then shook his head.

“Have no fear,” Duncan said softly. “While we may need as many recruits as we can get, I have no intention of invoking the Right of Conscription.” Bryce visibly relaxed, and Eideann sighed. Then he turned to her.

“Will you see to Duncan’s needs while your brother and I are away?”

“Of course,” she said softly, and her Cousland Blue eyes slid to the Warden-Commander. Bryce Cousland gave a soft cough to regain her attention.

“Then go. Find Fergus. Tell him to lead the men to Ostagar ahead of me. I shall wait for the last of Arl Howe’s men.” Eideann opened her mouth to argue, then closed it at the dark glare she earned for the trouble. She gave a bow of head to both Duncan and Arl Howe before sweeping away. She clenched both fists in her skirts as she strode across the hall.

A Grey Warden. Her. They were legendary heroes, the saviors of mankind. It would be an honor to serve them, and the Warden-Commander thought her worthy of the privilege. She sighed again.

If it was a Blight in the south, then the darkspawn were massing around a new Archdemon. The Blights were the greatest evil known to Thedas. The First Blight, the Chantry said, was caused when Tevinter Magisters entered the Fade in the flesh and corrupted the Golden City, the seat of the Maker himself. They were the first darkspawn, and the Archdemons were their Old Gods. Seven Old Gods once ruled Tevinter before the Chantry and Andraste made the Maker’s will known. And four had risen in Blights to ravage the world. The First Blight had lasted for two hundred years until the Grey Wardens of the Anderfels had given their lives to slay the Archdemon Dumat and drive the darkspawn back. Since then, only Grey Wardens had been able to slay Archdemons and end Blights. No other warrior could do so. A Grey Warden was a hero made flesh.

If this was truly a Fifth Blight, all Grey Wardens were needed. And yet there were so few in Ferelden.

The Grey Wardens of Ferelden had been exiled three hundred years prior under the reign of King Arland. It was said that Arlessa Sophia Dryden, the Commander of the Grey at the time, had raised up the Wardens in a coup. Wardens were not supposed to be political, to have titles or allegiances. And yet, the stories said, they had tried to overthrow the King. It was not until King Maric Theirin that they had been allowed to return. Rumors out of Denerim claimed it was only because Maric and Duncan were friends. There were precious few Wardens in Ferelden now. And if it were truly a Blight…

“My Lady!” Eideann blinked and turned to see Ser Gilmore, the Highever Captain of the Guard, give her a bow of greeting. She halted, brushing her velvet skirts down, and met his gaze. “I have been looking for you everywhere, my Lady. Your dog has gotten into the larder again. Nan is in an uproar. She’s threatening to leave.” Eideann closed her eyes a moment for strength. Her dog was a black and grey mabari warhound called Angus, a gift from her brother for her seventh name-day, and her truest friend. He was often getting into trouble, upending tables and driving the castle staff to distraction. But he was protective of her, sworn to her, imprinted on her since he was a puppy too small for his own skin. She had raised him herself.

“Nan won’t leave,” she said finally.

“Your mother disagrees.” Eideann opened her eyes.

“Angus knows better than the hurt anyone.” She gathered her skirts again and turned away from the family wing and her father’s errand towards the kitchens instead. “I will go and fetch him,” she told Ser Gilmore, who looked relieved. Eideann caught herself wondering how good a Grey Warden he would prove if he could not even handle a dog and a cook.

Nan was shrieking and screaming when she arrived. The servants, a pair of elves who looked worse for wear, bore the brunt of the outburst, but brightened considerably when they saw her.

“Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!” Nan demanded.

“He is not a mutt. He’s a pureblood mabari,” Eideann replied simply, but pushed past Nan to the larder door.

Angus was within, chewing on a rat, his muzzle covered in blood. Eideann made a disgusted face and Angus perked up at the sight of her. He gave a gleeful woof, dropping the rat and coming to sit before her, tail banging on the stone floor. She shook her head.

“Sit right there. I’m not putting up with this,” she grimaced, surveying the larder. She directed Ser Gilmore to upend some of the sacks of grain and found the source of the rats further in the larder. She and Ser Gilmore worked to block the holes, and then she brushed herself off and ordered Angus out. At least he was obedient.

Nan gave them a sour look as they departed, but when she learned of the rats she softened a little and gave Angus a piece of leftover pork rind. Eideann shot a small smile to the serving maid who was hovering by the larder door looking nervous.

“It’s safe,” she said simply, and then left them to the busy work of feeding all the soldiers gathered under her father’s banners.

Ser Gilmore excused himself at the entrance of the family wing, begging her leave to go and prepare for the departure of the other knights. He had friends that would be going, but he would be staying behind to help her run the castle. So Eideann nodded and let him go, her hand on Angus’s thick leather collar as she led him through the doorway into the upper parts of the castle.

Her mother and her guests were seated in the Atrium, a large space for sitting and reading, partially covered and partially exposed. In the center of the Atrium was a small interior garden fed from sunlight through the open ceiling, but along the outside were alcoves sheltered from the rains and overlooking the rolling hills to one side and the expanse of the Waking Sea to the other. Her mother was holding court in one of these alcoves, safe from the rain pattering softly into the interior garden. Ever since word had arrived of the war down south, lords had been arriving to serve her father, master of the Northern Bannorn. The Teyrnir of Highever extended across half of Ferelden, and that included the lands of many Banns and Arls. One of those was Bann Loren of Caer Oswin, and he had sent his eldest son to squire for Teyrn Cousland, as well as he wife to comfort the Teyrna Eleanor Cousland. Her name was Lady Landra, an aging woman with fiery red hair who had known Eleanor since they were young girls. Bann Loren was a fickle man to most, keen to stay out of trouble and do as he was told, but Landra tied him to Highever in loyalty.

The two ladies had their heads together now. They had been conspiring again.

“Ah, here is my darling daughter,” Eleanor Cousland said as Eideann approached. She rose from her seat to greet her a little too graciously. ”Darling, you remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren’s wife? And this is her son, Dairren.” Ah, there it was.

“He’s not married yet either,” Lady Landra added helpfully. Eideann gave a strained smile to Dairren who looked as happy at the concept of being married off in a moment as she did. He gave her a courteous bow, murmuring some compliment or other. Lady Landra’s elven handmaiden looked equally uncomfortable in the exchange, embroidery clutched in her hands.

“I can handle my own affairs, Mother,” Eideann said quietly for all their sakes.

“All evidence to the contrary.” Eleanor replied shortly. Dairren looked put out.

“Perhaps your daughter has other priorities,” he said softly, and Eideann thought better of him in that moment. Eleanor just shook her head. Lady Landra smiled.

“I think I shall rest now, my dear,” she interrupted. Dairren nodded.

“I shall retire to the study for now,” he agreed. “We shall reconvene again at dinner.” He gave Eleanor a bow, kissed Eideann’s hand, and then moved off in the direction of the Cousland library. Eideann sighed, realizing quite suddenly she was alone with her mother.

“You’d best say goodbye to Fergus and your father while you can,” Eleanor said, joining her as she took a small tour along the indoor garden, holding her hand out into the gentle rain and feeling it splattering cold on her skin. Angus padded along behind them both at the end of their skirts.

“I wish I could go with them,” Eideann said quietly, still feeling angry at the idea that she could not.

“You place is here. Couslands always do their duty first. We have a duty to keep the peace in Highever while your father and brother are away,” her mother replied in the measured tones of court ladies.

“But I could make a difference,” Eideann said simply, turning to meet her mother’s soft brown gaze. Eleanor looked at her sadly. Eideann looked away towards the greenery again. “Are you staying at the castle?”

“For a few days,” Eleanor said after a slight pause, carefully keeping her skirts out of the rain where it was forming puddles on the nearest flagstones. “Then I shall travel south with Lady Landra to Caer Oswin.” It took that long for the truth to sink in. Eideann felt a chill. She would be the Lady of Castle Cousland proper then, the temporary Teyrna of Highever. She felt the weight and responsibility of that title settle on her and instantly felt ill at ease.

“I don’t think you should go,” she admitted. Eleanor linked their arms together, her voice gentle and motherly again.

“Don’t worry, my dear. It won’t be long. You and Oriana will be here, and Ser Gilmore will keep everything as it should be. You must help Oriana while I am away, my dear. She does not know yet what it means to be a Ferelden Lady as you or I do.” Oriana was Antivan, and arguably a better lady than Eideann ever could hope to be.

“I’m the last person she should learn from, and you know it,” Eideann said flatly. “I’d rather go roll in the mud and fight the village squires than rule from the Great Hall as Teyrna while you are gone. And if you do go, Mother, I insist on doing both those things.” Eleanor gave a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“Come now, enough of this. We will do what we must. We are Couslands.” And that was the end of it. “Won’t you go see Fergus?” Eideann stopped her turn about the garden and sighed.

“Yes, but I am giving him time with Oren and Oriana. Father wants him to leave right away. I won’t be bringing him good news when I go. A little time will not hurt them. He could leave in an hour and still make Waking Sea before nightfall.” She sank into a seat on one of the stone alcove benches, this time overlooking Highever. Her eyes slipped to the view, and she considered her homeland in silence a moment before glancing back to Eleanor Cousland. “I have a bad feeling about all this.”

“As do I,” her mother agreed quietly. “Your brother and father ride off to fight Maker only knows what…”

“Did you know there is a Grey Warden here?” Eideann asked suddenly. Her eyes were dark like the Waking Sea in the overcast lighting.

“Yes, I had heard that,” Eleanor said, considering her suspiciously. “You haven’t gotten it into your head you want to join him, have you?”

“Father wouldn’t allow it,” Eideann said, looking away again. The Atrium was very peaceful when it wasn’t a hive of activity.

“Nor would I,” Eleanor said archly. “And I do realize you didn’t answer my question.” Eideann gave her a flat look and Eleanor shook her head. “Maker’s breath. You’ll get your chance, soon enough. Things won’t be quiet here with all the lords gone south. You’ll have enough to keep you occupied here at the castle.”

“I won’t be killing darkspawn though.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Eleanor replied. She ran a hand loosely over her sea-green silk gown, then caught her long golden chain between her fingers as she considered her daughter. “Go on then. Go and find your brother. I shall see you at dinner,” she ushered, and Eideann rose to her feet.

The family quarters were further up inside the castle’s great tower, so she climbed the stairs in silence. Angus plodded alongside her, panting. He smelled a little from the rain.

Ahead she could hear Oren exclaiming over something, but the words were a little distant yet to make out. For a boy of six, he was certainly loud enough to wake the castle if need be. Good. He was a healthy boy. Oriana had been two days giving birth to bring him into the world. Eideann was glad he was thriving.

“Alright,” came the laughing tones of Fergus, her brother, as Eideann reached the landing. “I’ll bring you a sword when I return, I promise.”

“Fergus!”

Eideann smiled and followed the voices towards the family chambers, where she stopped in the doorway to watch them. Oriana was teary-eyed, and Oren was clinging to Fergus’s leg. He glanced up with their mother’s brown eyes and grinned.

“Ah, here is my little sister, come to see me off. Come no, love, dry your eyes and wish me well,” Fergus said, releasing Oriana and beckoning for Eideann to join them.

“Shall I wait outside?” she asked even as her nephew closed the gap between him and the mabari at her side.

“One day, you’ll find someone who can handle you,” Fergus ribbed, but he grinned and closed her in an embrace.

Oren fell on Angus with a laugh, clinging to the dog’s big neck. Angus licked his check, leaving a trail of slobber that caused Oriana to make a noise of disgust.

“Little sister, I’m going to miss you,” Fergus said, pointedly ignoring his family for the time being.

“And I you,” Eideann said, feeling tears start to threaten at her eyes. The two of them had been as thick as thieves since they were little. “I wish I were going with you.”

“I wish you were too. It would be useful having you fighting at my side.” Fergus gently wiped away a tear at her eye and pulled back. “Come now, ladies, all will be well. News from the south says the battles have gone well. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Fergus was a gentle soul with a face made for smiling. He had always looked after her. Eideann pushed away the sadness for his sake, then sighed.

“Father wishes you to leave without him,” she said quietly. Fergus made a disgruntled noise.

“Then the Arl’s men are delayed? Anyone would think they were walking backwards!” Eideann smirked a little at that. Oriana gathered Oren into her arms as Fergus knelt to meet his eyes. “You. Be good while I am gone. Do as your mother and your aunt tell you, and behave.”

“Yes Papa,” Oren said meekly. Fergus rose, kissing Oriana, then smiled.

“You behave too,” he teased. “Goodbye, my love.” She closed her arm tighter about their son.

“You weren’t planning on leaving without saying goodbye were you?” came the strong voice of Bryce Cousland from the doorway. He and Eleanor crossed to join them and make their own farewells.

“Look after Mother while I’m away?” Fergus asked Eideann with a small smile. Eideann quirked an eyebrow.

“Look after Mother? She’s never needed looking after.” Fergus grinned.

“True, they should be sending her, not me. She’d scold the darkspawn back into the Deep Roads.”

“I’m glad you find this so funny,” Eleanor said, her lips pursed. Oriana stepped in then to offer a prayer for them, which left Eideann once again confronting Bryce Cousland.

“I still think you should let me go,” she tried one final time, but he just gave her a sad smile and shook his head.

“Pup, I need you here. Now go and fetch our guests for dinner? I will find Arl Howe myself.” Eideann relented and looked once more at Fergus who smiled, though it seemed an effort.

“Being sent on errands are we?”

“Have fun on the long march in the wet and the cold,” she shot back. He laughed, then stepped forward and enclosed her in his arms once more. “Take care, little sister. Look after everyone. And be here when I get back.” He said it like he expected her to run off.

Maybe she would yet.

And then she turned away, because she could not handle any more goodbyes.

She adopted a slow pace as she navigated the carpeted halls of the keep, listening to the rain, the sounds of sorrow in the sky. Beyond even that was the soft hush of waves from the crashing of the sea along the coast. She closed her eyes to listen and to feel a part of it again. Highever was home, and always would be, but it wasn’t the same now that Fergus was leaving, with her father and mother soon to be gone too.

She remembered hearing Dairren speak of going to the library, so she went there first and found herself among the tall bookshelves filled with priceless tomes collected over the centuries by the Couslands. It was one of her favorite retreats, full of memory and knowledge and histories. She moved silently through the quiet shelves, skimming the titles, until she reached the center of the room where a large armchair draped in wolf pelts stood before a roaring fire. How many times had she sat as a girl on her father’s knee in that chair while he read to her? How many times had she begged him for stories, trailing him around the castle for his attention, until the guardsmen called her his pup? The name had stuck. The name had brought her Angus. She smiled slightly, reaching to skim her hand over the top of the warm pelts.

“My Lady?” Eideann let her hand fall and looked back to see Dairren Loren watching her from the space between two shelves.

“I came to find you,” she said quietly. “Dinner will be ready shortly.”

“I see,” he said softly, then glanced to the books wistfully and she realized that his true passion was knowledge not warfare. “This is an incredible library.”

“It was my grandfather’s. He lived in this room,” Eideann smiled, clasping her hands together lightly. She could feel the warmth of the fire and basked in it a little. “I come here often to read.”

“As would I,” Dairren smiled. “We have nothing so grand at Caer Oswin. A few shelves in the Great Hall. My father wants little to do with books. He wanted me to learn to fight instead.”

“A shame,” Eideann said. “I often find that books console us where words cannot. They teach us where people cannot make us see. They pass down stories from long ago.” He looked at her with soft, deep eyes then before licking his lips.

“I am to ride south, my Lady, to squire for your father. I shall leave when he goes. But when I am there, I hope to write about the battle, to convey the true soldier’s experience. Would you read it, perhaps, when I return.” She smiled slightly, recognizing he understood her dismay at being left behind. “I…would like to know you better, my Lady,” he added carefully, “without the presence of our mothers’ incessant matchmaking.” Eideann considered him a moment. He glanced away nervously under her gaze. “Even if all that comes of it is a lasting friendship.  
”  
“I would be glad to know you better, my Lord Dairren.”

“Then when I return…?”

“Yes,” she smiled slightly and he relaxed, smiling back. Then he offered her his arm.

“Allow me to escort you to dinner, my Lady,” he suggested, and she took his arm, lifting her skirts with her free hand.

Dinner without Fergus was quieter than normal. Usually his laughter filled the halls, but there was a somber overtone to everything that evening. Arl Howe sat at her father’s side, and they discussed the upcoming battle in low voices. Her mother, with Lady Landra, sought to console Oriana who seemed liable to break into tears at any moment. Since the day they had wed, she and Fergus had never been separated, and theirs was a love-match for all their marriage had been arranged politically. Eideann sat with Oren, discussing sword-play and telling him all about how she would teach him to fight while his father was gone in a low voice so Oriana would not hear her. On the other side of the boy, Dairren was smirking, clearly enjoying himself. Oren was listening with a serious intent.

When night fell, the rain was still steadily coming down, and Eideann walked back along the indoor garden of the Atrium, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She bade Oriana an Oren goodnight and left her mother and Lady Landra to their gossiping. Dairren sat for a while in the alcove nearby, a book in his hands, but he was not reading, and at last he too said goodnight, kissing her hand as he had before. She listened then to the rain and thought of the war down south, until at last Angus gave a sot whine at her and she wandered off to her chambers and to bed.

Her chambers were cool. No fire was lit in the hearth, all the servants busy with other things that day, and her bedding was cold from lack of use. She had stayed up too late to have benefited from the warmth of the day in that regard. Eideann had never had use of a handmaiden, slipping out of her gown easily enough, and letting her blonde hair fall loose across her shoulders and down her back.

She slipped into the covers, shivering, and Angus leapt up to join her, propping his head up on her belly where she could scratch his head.

“What do you think, Angus?” she asked him, and he quirked his brow at her. She smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Somehow she slipped into sleep, but it was a fitful sleep, full of nightmares. She dreamt the rain had turned to blood and she was running through the streets of Highever proper, along the wooden quay towards a boat that was sailing away, Fergus on its deck. The castle behind her was aflame, burning bright in the night. Something made her want to find Oren, so she ran towards the fire, but there was no way back into the castle. About her, men bearing the Amaranthine bear were watching, but none would help her. And then a scream so clear a loud broke through it all.

She jerked awake, panting, about to dismiss the whole thing, when she noticed Angus. He was no longer beside her on the bed, instead down on the floor by the door, growling in a low, dangerous tone. Someone had slammed a door in the keep beyond. Eideann slowly slipped from her bed, gathering her shift about her, and reached for the knife she kept by her bed for security. The steel felt cold to the touch.

Her bare feet hit the floor and she winced at the frigid stone. Then she moved silently towards Angus, carefully wrapping her hair up into a knot to keep it out of the way.

There was a slamming noise of another door, then the sound of something hitting the wood of her own door, a shuddering at a violent impact. It burst inward, and she saw Dairren standing there, a look of horror on his face. An arrow blossomed from his heart. Blood rolled from the corner of his mouth.

He fell down dead, and his blood seeped into her rug.

Eideann stepped back, and Angus stepped forward, as the first man came through the door. He had cold eyes, his armor glistening from the rain. He had come in from outside, and on his arm was a shield with the Amaranthine bear. Eideann’s blood ran cold.

She moved before realizing it, her training taking over without thought. She lunged, stabbing up and around. Angus launched himself at the soldier, knocking him down and tearing out his throat. Then he bounded out the door towards the archer that had shot Dairren.

Eideann gathered up her sword from her armor rack and cut through a length of her shift to give herself the room to move. Then she proceeded into the hall.

There were another two guards there, but they were busy pounding on her parents’ door. She approached in silence, her bare feet making no noise on the carpet, Angus at her side. The first went down in one stroke, her dagger piercing through his heart from behind as she beheaded him with her sword. Blood splattered, hot and stinging, across her face and white shift, but she turned to the other man. Angus circled around her.

“I will do the same to Howe when I see him,” she spat, and the man hefted his maul and charged. Eideann ducked his first swing, swift where he was burdened. Angus took out the man’s ankle, massive teeth ripping through the joints and tendons and bringing the soldier to his knees. Eideann slammed her dagger home into his eye, then looked away and stepped back, yanking the dagger free and letting the body fall to the flagstones. The door beside her opened.

“Darling! Are you hurt?!” Eleanor Cousland was clad in the gown she had been wearing earlier, all sea-green silk and jewels, but at her back was a bow of twisting whitewood, and there was a quiver strapped to her waist now.

“I’m fine…” Eideann said quietly, unnerved. Her mother considered the men in the all, then looked back up, her eyes desperate.

“Those are Howe’s men!” she exclaimed.

“He’s betrayed Father,” Eideann said blankly. “He attacks while our men are away.” She felt numb.

“You don’t think his men were delayed on purpose?!” Eideann lost her voice, so she just nodded bleakly instead. “Maker’s blood! We need to find your father!”

“Oren,” Eideann finally said, a shot of panic going through her. “Oriana…” They hurried down the hall towards Fergus and Oriana’s chambers, but it was too late. Howe’s men had been there first.

Oriana, the Antivan princess, lay dead over her son, as though she had died protecting him. He was dead too, boyish eyes staring blankly upwards unseeing.

“Howe isn’t even taking hostages! He means to kill us all!” her mother said, voice filled with grief as she knelt beside their bodies. Eideann could not speak. She just tightened her grip on her sword hilt and turned away, crossing back to her chambers and shoving her belongings off her trunk to get at her things. Her mother hovered about her.

“Darling, what are you doing? We must be gone, before they return.”

“I can’t fight in this.” She stripped off her clothing and buckled on her practice leathers instead. They were cold from the trunk, but they would lend her more protection against Howe’s soldiers. She strapped her sword and dagger sheaths to her back, then looked to her mother. “Mother, we need to get out of here.”

“There is a servant’s exit in the larder, but we must find your father first,” Eleanor protested. She had tied her skirts up out of the way and knocked an arrow to be safe. Her mother had once been proficient with weapons herself. There would be more fighting ahead, and they needed every advantage they could get.

They paused in the Atrium to check the path ahead and a cold finality settled over them both at the realization of the distance they still had to cover and all they had lost.

“We can’t just let Howe win,” Eideann said coldly.

“Listen, darling,” Eleanor said. “If Howe’s men are inside that means they’ve already taken the gates. If you don’t survive this, the Cousland line dies here. You must escape.”

“I want Howe dead!” Eideann spat, a cold fury rising within her now. She was ready to do battle now, here, on these terms.

“Then live,” Eleanor said, her voice like steel, “and visit vengeance upon him.” For a moment Eideann’s fierce fire was reflected in those brown eyes. “You are a scion of the Couslands, my daughter. You will not die here.”

“It sounds like there is more fighting below,” Eideann sighed. “Be ready, Mother.”

The steps were empty, and while sounds of battles could be heard echoing up the halls they were lucky enough to meet no one until they reached the corridor that led to the kitchens. The reason for their luck became apparent when they saw that part of the corridor had caught fire, and the path was blocked.

“We’ll have to go past the armory,” Eleanor said, staring at the flames in despair.

“We should stop there anyway. We’ll need anything we can salvage,” Eideann replied grimly. She took the other path then, down the stairs that wrapped around the Great Hall. A small patrol confronted them on that route, but Eideann had settled into a determined bloodlust and dispatched them before they had the chance to call the alarm, Angus tearing into them with his warhound fangs and claws.

The armory and the subsequent treasury were behind a locked door, but Eleanor drew forth a brass key on a chain from about her neck as they approached and tossed it to Eideann who caught it and let them in. The armory itself was untouched, so they gathered what they could, Eideann switching out her practice leathers for Cousland chainmail. Eleanor struggled into a quilted hauberk and some gauntlets over her gown. They raided all the worthwhile gold and jewels they could carry from the treasury. They would need it if they escaped.

At the back of the treasury, hanging on the wall, was the Shield of Highever and the silverite family blade. Eideann considered it a moment, then reached to pull them both down.

“He cannot have these,” she said furiously, casting aside her knife and taking up the family blade instead, testing the balance in her grip. The shield she hooked over her shoulder at her back. It would be safe there, and out of the way. It was heavy, but she was slowly adjusting to it.

They had to cut through Howe’s mabari as they exited the armory. Her mother took one down with an arrow to the throat. Angus pulled another onto its side and tore into it with vicious teeth and claws, blood all over his muzzle. Eideann stabbed a third through the cut, spilling entrails across the cobbles, before moving along to the archers that accompanied the dogs. Howe’s men fell before her fury, and she cut a path for them towards the Great Hall, anger driving her. There was no more time for fear. She was beyond fear. Now it was all the fury of a wildfire.

The Great Hall was a scene of carnage. There was no sign of Bryce Cousland, but Ser Gilmore was there, covered in blood, battling a mage and several of Howe’s soldiers. In an instance, Eideann was at his side, slicing and hacking away at the enemy. They fell into a familiar pattern, one they used when he had sparred with her, and Howe’s men fell before them. Angus went straight for the mage. She fell with a blood-curdling scream as her dress ripped and blood fountained across the hall.

When their enemies had at last been felled, Ser Gilmore barked an order to the guards to man the gates and keep more soldiers out. Then he hurried to Eideann and Eleanor, pulling Eideann into an embrace of relief. His sword was slick with blood in his hands.

“Thank the Maker! I was certain Howe’s men had gotten through!” he exclaimed, releasing her. Eideann shook her head angrily.

“They did get through. Howe, that bastard!” Ser Gilmore – Rory – looked to Eleanor, who broke down.

“They killed Oriana and Oren,” she sobbed. Eideann looked at him despairingly.

“Rory, please tell me you’ve seen my father.” His expression told her everything she needed to know before he spoke the words.

“When I last saw the Teyrn he was badly injured. I think he thought to find you at the servant’s exit in the larder. You must hurry. We will hold them as long as we can.” There was a silence then, broken only by the muffled shouting and banging of the doors. Eideann gave a nod. Eleanor reached to take the knight’s hand with her bloodied one.

“Bless you, Ser Gilmore,” the Teyrna said quietly. He gave a low bow, then pulled away.

“Maker bless us all,” he replied, then turned away to join the others at the gates. Eleanor watched him a moment, tears rolling down her face, until Eideann reached for her, gripping her wrist and pulling her towards the other side door in the direction of the kitchens.

“Mother, we have to move.”

The kitchen corridors were still mostly empty, because another part of the hall further down were aflame, blocking the way for Howe’s men. They encountered a few engaged in battle with their guardsmen, but the guards closed ranks, securing passage for them. Stopping to assist might mean their deaths, and there was no room, so Eleanor and Eideann pressed on.

The larder was suspiciously quiet when they entered, and completely dark. Eideann stumbled a moment until her eyes adjusted. Even so it took her a moment to realize that the floor was littered with the bodies of the kitchen staff. She stared at Nan, dead at her feet, and felt the numbness washing back over her. Unable to bear it, she turned away, hurrying for the larder door.

Her father lay in a pool of blood, a grimace sharp on his face. He looked up with cloudy eyes as they burst in, the light from a single candle beside him throwing his face into sharp relief.

“There…you both are…” he gasped. Eleanor rushed to his side, falling to her knees and reaching for him. He struggled into her arms.

“Bryce!” she cried. Eideann felt her own heart stop.

“I will kill Howe for what he has done!” she spat. Bryce looked to her.

“He can’t get away with this…” he gasped. “The king…” He could not finish. He coughed, and blood splattered his lips and chin instead.

“Bryce, no! The exit is right here. We can flee, find healing magic!” her mother insisted. Bryce Cousland looked at her in despair.

“I cannot make it.”

“No. That’s not true. Let’s go,” Eideann said, throwing back the trapdoor to the exit. He glanced to her in sorrow.

“Ah, my darling girl, if only words could make it so,” he breathed. “Someone…someone must reach Fergus, tell him what has happened…” Eideann felt her blood run cold. What if Howe had something planned for him as well? She was suddenly desperate to be gone, to reach him before something happened to her brother too.

“The castle is surrounded,” Bryce continued. “I cannot make it.”

“I fear the Teyrn is correct,” came a soft voice from the doorway, and the sound of blades slipping into sheaths. Eideann looked back to see the Warden-Commander cross the threshold and join them in the candlelight. “Howe’s men will be through the gates soon.”

“Duncan!” Bryce Cousland gasped. “Please! Take my wife and daughter to safety! I beg you!” Duncan looked at him with sorrow.

“I shall, my Lord. But I must ask for something in return.”

“Anything!” Bryce replied. Eideann felt a wave of anger. A demand at a time like this?! But Duncan was not paying attention to her.

“I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands I leave with one.” Her father was quiet a moment, then gave his soft agreement. It took Eideann a moment to realize what that price would be. She looked between them both. They were both watching her now.

“What…but…Ser Gilmore?” she stammered, confused. The knight was still alive. The gates yet held. Surely he was the one…  
“Truth be told, it was always you I preferred,” Duncan told her carefully. Eideann narrowed her eyes.

“But what if something has happened to Fergus!?”

“We shall go to the King at Ostagar,” Duncan told her, “and he will see justice brought to Howe. But the darkspawn threat must take precedence even over vengeance.” Eideann stared, unable to reconcile the two thoughts in her head. Then her father’s voice called her back, gentle like it had been when she was a little girl.

“Pup,” he called to her, and she listened, her heart sinking at the name. “Our family always does our duty first. If a Blight truly is upon us…” She reached to clasp his bloodied hand in hers.

“I will do it, Father. For you,” she told him, her voice breaking. There was a sound of crashing above. Howe’s men had made it through the gates.

“Come,” Duncan said with a new urgency. “We must go.”

“Darling,” Eleanor said quietly, refusing to rise. “Go with Duncan. Become a Grey Warden. I will only slow you down.”

“Eleanor,” Bryce said, tears in his eyes. “Are you…sure?”

“Hush, Bryce. I’ll kill every man who comes through that door.” Her brown eyes rose to Eideann. “My place is with your father, at his side to death and beyond. Go. Become a Grey Warden. Make us proud.”

“We love you,” Bryce said with the last of his strength. Eleanor bent over him, tears on her cheeks, and Eideann reached for them both. Then the sound of clattering footsteps brought them all to their feet. Duncan pulled her back even as her mother knocked and arrow.

“Now!” Duncan demanded, dragging her to the trapdoor. Angus leapt past them into the hole, and then Eideann was thrust through, dropping a short distance to the bottom. The door fell shut behind them and they were plunged into darkness. Above them, swords clashed, she heard her mother screaming. Duncan dragged her along the tunnel, and Eideann felt hot tears spill down her cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and Duncan arrive at Ostagar; King Cailin learns of Howe's betrayal; King Cailin and Teyrn Loghain exchange some heated words; the Grey Wardens discuss their new recruits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: suicide (mentioned)

Duncan sat before the burning fire underneath the starry night somewhere in the fields of the Bannorn, a brace of hares dripping juices into the flames. Nearby, Eideann Cousland sat, her back to him, Angus at her side, eyeing up the Cousland blade in the starlight. The silverite glinted and glowed, like it was made of stars itself, and Duncan watched the Cousland scion consider that shine before she slowly and deliberately raised it to her neck.

His heart stopped. He had not thought her so far gone to consider such a thing. She had spent the last few days in a silence that even tears were no part of, her grief so heavy it hung over them. She had hardly spoken a single word. She refused to look at him. He had thought she was angry, shocked. But this…

“Don’t!” he cried, trying to reach her, but she simply swung the sword outward, away from her neck, hacking through her golden locks and letting them drift to the grass at her feet where they stirred in the wind like threads of silk. She glanced back at him then, her eyes like rain, red-rimmed from grief and lack of sleep.

“I can’t fight with this in my way, and Howe’s men could be looking for me,” she told him. They were the first words she’d truly spoken to him since leaving Castle Cousland. Her eyes narrowed at him. “You didn’t think I was trying to kill myself?” Duncan sighed.

“There are many people in the world who might try in your situation.” It was not an admission of truth, per se, but she knew what his evasion meant. She shook her head, giving a disgusted hiss.

“I am not many people. I am a Cousland. And I will not die until Howe’s blood paints this blade crimson and my family is given the retribution they deserve. And there is still Fergus I must find.” She turned back, going back to hacking at her hair. It slipped down her back to curl with the rest where she sat.

Her hair was a mess now, different lengths and choppy, clearly not the work of any decent barber. She gathered up what was left, a tangle that ended around her jawline, and lashed it back in a short tail behind her head to keep it from her face. The lower portion was too short even for that, hanging limply at odd lengths about her neck. She brushed the loose strands away, then ran a hand into Angus’s fur, closing her eyes.

“You left my parents there to die.” It was not a question.

Duncan did not really have a response. He could not have saved them. He knew that this was her grief finally venting, built up over days of sorrow and horror. He was the only target she could take aim at. He simply turned the rabbits on their spits to cook evenly.

“You left innocents to die at the hands of a monster because you think there are more important things to do than help people in immediate danger. What sort of Warden are you anyway?! You’re not hero.”

“I did what I could,” he said gently. Part of her was angry because of the powerlessness, he knew. She wanted it to be the truth that he could have done more and chose not to do so, because she desperately needed to believe that there was still power on her side, even if it was not working for her. She glared at him, her eyes the dark Cousland Blue that minstrels sing of in Denerim and Highever.

“You did not do what you could! You demanded a price! You wanted someone to fight the Blight in exchange for my life and my mother’s, and instead you have me as a slave, and my mother is as dead as my father, my nephew, my sister-in-law, my nanny, my servants, my friends, my guardsmen, and my knights. You could have brought my mother. You could have helped because it was the right thing to do. But apparently Grey Wardens don’t do what is right unless it is also in their interest.” She looked away. He sniffed.

“You are not here to join a noble order. Our members are criminals, bastards, the unwanted. The life we live is a hard one. We make many compromises in our sworn duty. But the rules are simple.” He turned the spits again before continuing. “First, and learn this one well, Grey Wardens will do anything to end a Blight. Anything. And second, our motto: in war, victory; in peace, vigilance; in death, sacrifice.” His eyes were narrow and dark when he looked to her. “There is a Blight upon us. The Grey Wardens are at war. We must have victory. And for that we need an army we do not have. There are twelve of us in Ferelden. Twelve. You are the thirteenth, once you complete the Joining. I must weigh the needs of the many against the needs of the few.” An unlucky number, thirteen, his Rivaini mother had always told him. Eideann Cousland was not impressed or mollified by his statements, however. He rose to her feet until she towered over him. Angus, disturbed, gave a low whine.

“Tell yourself your excuses, old man. An oath to protect means nothing if you won’t even save those you can.” Her voice held the light brogue of Highever. Duncan shook his head.

“You had best come to terms with that. You are for the order now. By conscription I will have you if I must. I need you as a Grey Warden, and you cannot run from it. You owe me that as the debt for your life.” It was a cruel thing to say, he knew, and would cause trouble between them that would take time to mend, if it ever truly did. But he also knew she needed that coldness now to face the stark reality and to come to terms with it while she still hand the chance.

Eideann Cousland met his eyes with the ferocity of a rankled bear.

“I made my father a promise,” she spat, “and I am a Cousland. I will do my duty. I will join the Wardens and fight darkspawn. But know this: you may be the Warden-Commander, but I know the monster inside you. I will be a Grey Warden, but I will never serve you.”

“Being a Grey Warden,” Duncan said again quietly, “does not mean being a hero, or even following the Warden-Commander. It means doing what must be done whatever the cost, regardless of the consequences. That is why you are here. We cannot be the heroes of legend. The heroes of legend have never faced the darkspawn in the Deep Roads. They have never had to battle Archdemons. The heroes of legend would not survive a true Blight. Real Wardens survive, and we do what must be done.” He realized then that she did not care. She had resigned herself to become a Warden as a form of slavery. He had been that way himself once.

“Darkspawn.” Eideann snapped, turning to glare at him, “are monsters. They will do anything to survive, to see their enemies dead. They live only for the Blight. If you want to take the stance that you will do anything to survive, that you live to battle the Blight, how are you any better than they? According to you, Grey Wardens are darkspawn in different clothing.” She stalked off then, marching into the tall grasses of the Bannorn and disappearing.

She was right, in a way. More than she knew. To be a Grey Warden was to become as dedicated to the Blights as the darkspawn themselves. To battle the Blight meant becoming as persistent as the Blight itself, as cold, as hard. Protection…a silly oath to watch over the realms of men…

It had been the goal once, to save the world from itself. Duncan did not know if the first darkspawn were Magisters that had broken into the Fade or if it was just a Chantry story, but he did believe that darkspawn were corruption incarnate. To fight corruption for so long often meant becoming corrupted yourself.

He felt it in his bones again that night, sitting in the cold breeze of the Bannorn before a small fire roasting rabbits, that maybe he was getting too old for this. He could feel the weight of years settling on him, and he wondered again about Fiona and Riordan, those he went through the Joining with. He sighed and removed the rabbits, now cooked, from the fire. He jabbed the sticks into the soft dirt to keep them clear of the ground.

Eideann Cousland was a woman of fierce intentions, he was learning. She stood her ground, he gave her that, and running, leaving them all to die in her wake, was beyond her ability to reconcile with the part of herself that insisted on fighting to her dying breath. She was scared, alone, but even in that state her practical mind had won out, forcing her to hack of her hair for the ease it would afford. Her armor was still stained in the blood of men several days dead, but she had tended her blades with the mastery of years of drilling and practice until they shone cruelly in the starlight each night as she wiped them down with the cloth she had torn from her undershirt sleeve.

The Storm Coast was a harsh terrain, mountainous and rocky, hills of rolling grass and never-ended rains in this season. Down south it would be colder, but Duncan was certain that snows would come to Highever soon to cover the sins there in blankets of white. The Bannorn was grassland, flatter and drier, less prone to seasons, but the woods that hid ancient secrets along the North Road and skirted the River Dane would soon see their leaves turn autumnal gold and fall. Duncan did not like being out in the open, but they were making good time since the terrain was easier here and the weather still permitting travel. Eideann Cousland had proved less the noble lady and more the stark, fierce creature he had hoped she would be. She had caught their rabbits that day, shooting them before he could even see them with a bow she had brought from Highever.

In her position, how many would be lost? How many would lose all focus? How many would simply give up? Not her. She was driven now by a righteous burning that threatened to consume her, a cold fire that had settled into her soul. He believed Andraste herself would give up before Eideann Cousland.

That was what the Wardens needed now. That fire.

The Cousland name was ancient, as old as the Alamarri tribes. The Couslands and the Teyrns of Highever were an older family than even the Theirins, the descendants of King Calenhad himself. Elthea Cousland had stood against Calenhad’s armies and bartered with him on equal footing long after the Bannorn had fallen. How many scions of the Cousland line had bred with the Theirins over the years? How many ancient bloodlines had crossed between them? How rich was the bloodline of all of Highever, that so many Wardens could trace their lineage back there?

Eideann was an ancient name too, meaning fire in the old Alamarri tongues. Fitting then that he sought her for that cold rage, that passion.

He did not notice her return until she was at his side, her dull and stained armor camouflaging her in the darkness. She did not look at him, instead considering the lands to the south.

“Do you think he is alive?” she asked him quietly, and he knew she meant her brother.

“Yes. Arl Howe could not have extended his reach too far.”

“Why now though? Of all times, why now?” Duncan gave her an odd look, but she was still staring south.

“I am a Grey Warden. I don’t get involved in politics,” Duncan sighed. She did look at him then, her eyes dark.

“A foolish thing to say. The Wardens are always political, whether you like it or not. You don’t have a choice.” She crossed her arms. “What does he hope to gain, with King Cailin on the throne? It will not stand. He will be brought to justice. The King can do no less, when an Arling attacks a Teyrnir. He cannot hope to gain anything from this.”

“Perhaps he did not think that far,” Duncan said, passing her a rabbit. She took it. Good. He was worried she would still not eat.  
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Arl Howe has never been a stupid man. Ambitious and brown-nosing, but not stupid. He is too dangerous in a political dance for me to believe that.” She narrowed her gaze and then finally looked at the rabbit on the stick in her hands. “I do not like it.”

“Your loyalties must be first to the Grey Wardens,” Duncan tried to say gently, but he felt her gaze burn into him. It was the sort of burn one feels from touching ice that is too cold.

“Why? Have you earned my loyalty? No. He attacked you as well as I. He is your enemy as well as mine. I just don’t know enough of the pieces to make sense of it yet.” He said nothing at that, because she was finally eating.

The morning found them striding across the farmholds of the Bannorn until they encountered a nearly empty homestead where several horses were still stabled. Duncan, feeling the urgency to move faster, paid the stablemaster for them, even though they were barely fit for plow horses. They did increase the pace a little though. Angus kept up, dashing about the horses’ flanks and chasing nugs into the brush. Before long the plains of the Bannorn slowly turned into the rolling hills of the Hinterlands, and the cold began to seep into their bones.

Still south they rode to the farthest reaches of the ancient Imperium, its final outpost of Ostagar.

It was said that Ostagar was a research station of some sort at one time. Tevinter Magisters would gather there to enact their bloody rituals. From its heights, the entire south was blockaded by a well-placed guard. The barbarian Chasind lived further beyond, deep in the Korcari Wilds, a wicked and frigid swamp that misted into the distance and cloaked the end of the world. Tevinter drove the barbarians that far, but no farther. They had reached the end of civilization there. At Ostagar, all roads ended.

The darkspawn invasion had begun in those southern depths, far beyond their reach. Ostagar was defensible, a good place to turn back the tide of the Blight, but it left their rear open. They would not get a second chance short of Redcliffe in the Hinterlands. Southern Ferelden had little by way of fortresses or strongholds. The Korcari Wilds were empty of all save barbarians, legends, and wolves.

Usually darkspawn lived beneath the earth, occupying the invaded Deep Roads that had once connected the dwarven thaigs in their vast empire that stretched even across the sea. The dwarves had long since lost those battles, confined now to Orzammar and the recently discovered Kal Shirok in Tevinter. That was all that remained of the once great kingdom. With the convenience of the Deep Roads, the darkspawn could roam the depths, hearing the siren songs of the Old Gods in their slumber. And when one was found and awoken, they broke the surface to reclaim the lands above.

Blights changed the lands. Whole countries morphed and twisted into the unrecognizable in their wake. Western Orlais was now little more than a desert where the Third Blight had blasted the earth itself. The once grand cities of the Western Approach were now dust beneath the blaring sun, ruins of what once was.

Duncan feared the same would happen in Ferelden. Ostagar had to work, or he feared they would have lost their only chance.

King Cailain was young though, and eager to prove himself in his father’s shadow. King Maric had ended the Orlesian occupation and claimed Ferelden for the Theirins again when his mother was still known as the Rebel Queen. He had fought at Duncan’s side, as his friend, and ventured into the deep places of the world with him. Cailin felt stifled beneath all the hero worship Maric had garnered, always feeling a lesser man compared to his father, and it was clear to any that he thirsted for the chance to prove his worth and valor.

Duncan was not sure what to expect once King Cailin learned of the events of Highever. The Couslands had been among the Theirin’s oldest supports and one of the most loyal lines in Ferelden to his crown. Bryce Cousland had been a confidante and supporter to Cailin since Maric’s death. He had ridden beside the old king in the wars, and his counsel had been highly valued by both father and son alike. Duncan felt the void opening before him where Bryce Cousland had once stood. The Warden-Commander only hoped he might be able to fill that role a little now.

After two weeks of hard riding south and avoiding roads, they made the Imperial Highway at Lothering. They followed it south towards the creaking swamplands of the Korcari Wilds. Vast mires and threatening rains taunted them there, but the elevated roads made travel easier. It was not long before they began to encounter royal scouts, and that made them press on all the more down to the end of the world.

As they drew nearer Ostagar, Duncan sensed a change in Eideann. Her resolute fire had given way to nervousness, no doubt over her brother. Had Fergus made it this far? The new Teyrn had no idea the fate of his family. It would be hard news to relay.

At last the day came when the Tevinter towers rose like giant bleached bones above the misty trees, beckoning them to Ostagar. They descended into the valley, where any open space was filled with a riot of colorful tents, numbering into the thousands. A stablehand took their mounts at the gate and directed them towards the ruins proper. Eideann had the Shield of Highever at her back and her family sword in her hand as if they were the last vestiges of her life remaining. He supposed, in a way, they were.

“The darkspawn have come up from the south. We have clashed with them several times, but we have had no sign of an Archdemon so far,” he told her, trying to fill her in as best he could. He should have done this sooner, but she had been determined to be angry with him and her circumstances in general. “I have asked the King to wait for the arrival of reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. We shall see if he has changed his mind.” Duncan could only pray that he had.

***

The woman before him could only be one lady. She had eyes the bards called Cousland Blue, and in some noble circles they called her the Flame of Highever. Her lips were the soft rose petal color that made other court ladies green with envy. A gentle smattering of freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, softening the hardness of her eyes slightly, but it was her posture that immediately defined her. She held herself like a tiger, waiting to pounce.

Cailin had heard tales that Eideann Cousland had beaten would-be suitors in a test of arms. None could best her, they whispered at court, and the twin blades were testament enough for him.

“King Cailin, allow me to introduce…” he held up a hand to quiet Duncan, considering the woman instead.

“You are Bryce’s youngest, are you not?” he said softly. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Eideann,” she said in a voice thick with the Coastlands.

Well and good, but what was Eideann Cousland, the Flame of Highever, and the most powerful woman short of his queen and Teyrna Cousland doing with the Warden-Commander?

“Your brother has already arrived with Highever’s men,” Cailin told her, “but we have not yet seen your father.” That seemed to unsettle her, for she went a little pale and crossed her arms about herself as if for support.

“You…you have not heard?” He felt a sinking sense of dread at the vague reply. His eyes slid to Duncan.

“News from the north has been halting. Why? What’s happened?” Duncan stepped forward then, almost defensively. Odd that.

“Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty,” the Warden-Commander said in his soft voice, sparing Eideann Cousland from having to say the words. “Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and taken Highever Castle.” Cailin’s rage was only matched by disbelief. The speed at which it rose within him was frightening. He stared.

“How can he think he can get away with this?!” he demanded before realizing Eideann Cousland was shaking. He turned to her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I swear when we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. He will not profit by this.” She had stopped shaking, and her eyes had hardened into diamonds.

“What kind of justice?” she said in a voice as cold as knife-steel.

“He will hang,” Cailin promised her, and ever word fell like the death sentence it was. It was a blow to even think such a thing could happen. Bryce Cousland had been among his most trusted advisors, nearly an uncle to him. The Couslands were well loved, and the oldest Teyrnir in Ferelden. They had the influence to sway the entire north and much of the Bannorn if need be. He had hoped…

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Eideann said in flat voice. She turned the cold fire of her gaze to Duncan then. Cailin had no doubt she would carve her way back into Highever single-handedly if need be.

Fergus Cousland, her elder brother – he supposed he would be the Teyrn now given the recent developments – was a little softer around the edges than his sister. He was jovial and popular, but no less fierce in his determination. Age had worn away his harder edges. Cailin had known Fergus a long time and had seen it firsthand. They were of an age, growing up together with Bann Teagan Guerrin and Lady Anora Mac Tir, now his queen. Cailin’s heart ached to think of Fergus when this news came. But Fergus was out of reach, scouting the Wilds for the darkspawn horde that threatened them at Ostagar, and he would not return in time for the battle that was already brewing. Cailin relayed this information to Eideann, who settled into a resigned pose, no less intense for it, and nodded.

“I am not eager to tell him, your Majesty,” she admitted quietly in a voice trained for court. Cailin caught the shift, watching her a moment, then nodded.

“Of that I have no doubt. I can only suggest you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being, Lady Cousland. Maker go with you.” He looked to Duncan. “I must be off before Loghain sends a search party.” Duncan nodded, giving a salute of sorts, and Eideann crossed both her arms in the salute of soldiers, giving a bow instead of a Lady’s curtsy. Cailin nodded to her, then turned away, his honor guard at his back. He needed a stiff drink.

Many people thought him a naïve sort of boy, a poor ruler and more a child, he knew. He wondered if Eideann Cousland was such a one. Personally, Cailin felt his gentle nature was part of his charm. It put people more at ease around him, and people at ease were far more likely to give him more useful information. But Eideann’s cold return to formality had made him wonder if perhaps his gentle and open nature was not off-putting at times. People expected a king to be strong, to be just and commanding. Cailin was of the opinion there were enough intense people in his retinue – his father-in-law Teyrn Loghain, for instance – that he need not be brazenly unwelcoming and aloof himself. He had learned the particular skill of gentle laughter from Bryce Cousland, and that was another thought that tugged at his heart and made him suddenly feel very weary. He glanced back to where Bryce Cousland’s beautiful, hardened daughter stood in conversation with the Warden-Commander, and again wondered how they had ended up travelling together.

He crossed the defensible Ostagar bridge that overlooked the valley where the battle would take place. The glory of the mountains took his breath away as he paused to consider how vast the land was here, how large the sky felt. But he also felt a little uneasy. The remnants of the ancient Tevinter Imperium dotted the landscape. The ancient battlefields were long overgrown, or lost to civilization like Ostagar itself, and those places were dangers. Tevinter Magisters were blood mages, and blood magic made the veil weak where it was worked.

Cailin carried on then, banishing the thought, and approached the royal encampment. This was where is personal retinue, his most trusted generals, and the representatives of the Chantry were established. The main army and the banner men were camped further up the hills beyond the western gate.

As he drew near, a man in Grey Warden armor stepped from the Revered Mother’s tent, almost colliding with Cailin as he did so. They both drew up short, barely missing one another, and their eyes met for an instant.

Alistair’s amber eyes were not their father’s. His hair was a little darker, and cropped short, but they shared many of the same features. Alistair froze, staring, and then backed away, giving an awkward bow. Then he turned and hurried off the other direction. Cailin watched him go.

Alistair was his half-brother, Maric’s bastard son. Cailin had no idea who the boy’s mother was, but Alistair himself had been born after Queen Rowan’s death. He had been raised by Arl Eamon in Queen Rowan’s ancestral home of Redcliffe before being sent to the Chantry at age ten to become a Templar.

And now he was a Grey Warden.

Few enough people knew about Alistair at all. Only Maric’s closest friends had any idea: Loghain Mac Tir, Warden-Commander Duncan, and Eamon and Teagan Guerrin. Alistair was younger, but not by much. Cailin sighed and pressed on.

Loghain was waiting for him at his tent, looking as severe as ever. He did not even wait for Cailin to enter before he pushed his way inside the golden pavilion that served as the royal tent. Cailin braced himself, stepped inside, and was instantly set upon.

“We will talk about Anora.” This again.

“There is nothing to discuss, Loghain. You are not part of my marriage. I will discuss with Anora things that concern Anora.” That was not a good enough reply, apparently, because Teyrn Loghain had forgotten that cloth walls did not muffle sound in his next reply.

“She is my daughter! I will not stand idly by while this….this dalliance of yours shames her!”

“And what dalliance could you possibly be referring to?” Cailin said flatly, setting aside his sword and taking a seat on a wooden chest at the end of his cot.

“You know full well,” Loghain said darkly. “This nonsense with Celene must stop!”

“I am the king. I have certain obligations to the safety and prosperity of my kingdom, and I am doing what I can do to meet those needs,” Cailin said simply, crossing his arms.

“We do not need Orlesians to fight the darkspawn,” Loghain snapped. “Maric spent his life in driving them from our country!” Cailin rose to stare his general down.

“No, you spend your life in driving them from the country, Loghain, long after they were gone. It has been thirty years since the war against the Orlesian occupation, and times change as they will.” He turned away, fastening his sword on his back and then getting a drink of wine.

“Anora deserves better than this!” Loghain hissed, watching him.

“Do you reall speak for Anora here, or do you speak for yourself?” Cailin asked darkly. He wanted this moment to grieve. He still had to tell Loghain. The man, his eyes a piercing silver, was glaring at him. “Anora is quite capable of raising her own concerns. She’s no fool. She knows as well as I what I at stake here. And your prejudices are showing.” He looked away, sipping his wine, then sighed.

“You couldn’t even choose another Ferelden?!” Loghain spat at him. Cailin looked up.

“There’s an idea,” he said flatly, then downed the rest of his wine. Not one he could act on, not now, not here, but an idea nonetheless. And it raised his suspicions actually. He looked to Loghain. “Bryce and Eleanor are dead.”

Loghain went rigid, like he had taken a blow.

“What happened?”

“Rendon Howe.” Loghain was quiet a moment, and Cailin nodded. “I need a drink. I will see you at the war council.” He set aside his goblet and pushed open the tent flap.

“What will you do?” Loghain asked him, and Cailin paused a moment, considering, before finally looking back and saying in a dark, cold voice:

“I will kill him.”

***

Duncan beckoned for Eideann to follow him through the ruins. She did so without comment, which worried him a little, but with their report to the King made, he hoped she would settle into the role of Grey Warden now.

“I must see to the other recruits and the Joining ritual,” he told her as they crossed the bridge. “I will be busy for awhile. You are welcome to wait at our camp –“

“This Ritual – “

“Will be revealed in time,” he said quickly. “You cannot ask more about it now. You are still a recruit, not a Grey Warden yet. Soon you will know all you need to know.” Or you will be dead, he thought as an afterthought and hated what that might mean. He believed for a moment she would protest, because her dark eyes shone with a defiant light. Instead, she drew herself up.

“Give me a task,” she said suddenly.

“You should rest at the camp, have something to eat – “ he began.

“No.” Her eyes were dark and cold. “Give me a task or I will go mad of grief. Anything. I will fetch or deliver messages. Just something, or I cannot hold it.” Duncan realized then that Eideann had not truly begun to grieve. Not yet. She was still functioning on her fierce drive alone. She would not be able to grieve until she knew Fergus was alive and safe.

“Alright,” he said simply. “There is another Grey Warden in the King’s encampment named Alistair. If you would find him, tell him to collect the other recruits, I would be grateful. It may take you some time. He tends to flit about a bit. I shall meet you both back at the Grey Warden camp.” He paused a moment, then glanced up towards the mass of tents in the west. “Also, if it would help, most of Highever’s men are here. You may wish the visit the Highever Commander in the camp proper.” It was a saddening idea, but also a bit of ground for her to hold to. Eideann nodded her thanks and then slipped away. Angus began to follow her, but she motioned for him to stay, so he followed Duncan instead up towards the bonfire that was raging in the center of the King’s encampment.

“Commander,” a Grey Warden called to him, whiskery beard larger than a dwarf’s. Duncan crossed to him, clasping his arm and nodding a greeting. The man grinned, but there was no real smile behind it. Then he nodded to Angus. “This our third recruit then?”

“Not quite, Grigor.”

“That dumpy lad, Ser Jory, said you were interested in testing a knight from the cast proper when he arrived, but you didn’t show up with a knight, from what I can see. Will you tell me who you’ve brought now?” Duncan beckoned him to follow and pushed his way inside the command tent.

“I have brought the Flame of Highever,” he said when he was sure the flap was closed. The other Grey Warden gave a short laugh, then realized he was serious.

“Eideann Cousland? She agreed to come?”

“There have been some complications.” Grigor gave a sharp hiss.

“Maker’s blood! Don’t tell me you conscripted her?! She’s a Teyrn’s daughter! That will be no end of trouble.”

“No. It is not so simple as that,” Duncan sighed, examining the letters that had come for him. “Fergus Cousland made it here safely?”

“Half a week back,” Grigor reported suspiciously. He never could hide what he was thinking. “He made his noble greeting to the King and Teyrn Loghain and then was sent out into the woods. That boy knows how to run troops through rough terrain. We’ve been needing that for a while. This place is damp and hard to navigate like the Storm Coast.” Duncan nodded.

“That boy is now the Teyrn of Highever,” he said without looking up, “and his sister has come to bring charges against Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine for treason. In exchange for her life at Highever, she will join the Grey Wardens. This,” he motioned to the dog that had plopped itself down on his feet, “is Angus.” The dog gave a low gruff.

“Treason?” Grigor spat. “Maker’s blood.”

“Indeed.” A letter caught his eye and he picked it up. One of the scouts had signed it. “Herric sent this?” Grigor nodded, brushing his giant beard down with one hand.

“Arrived yesterday. Good news?” Herric had been looking onto ancient Warden outposts, centuries old.

“He’s found the watchtower,” Duncan said after skimming the contents of the letter. “The one here in the Wilds.”

“Send the lad with the recruits when they go for the Joining. They’ll find it. One is a ranger, mark my words, that cutpurse from Denerim. And if you really have brought Eideann Cousland, they say she can track for miles up north.” Duncan considered that. Even with all that had happened, Eideann Cousland had caught their dinner every night for the entire trip. Some days it had been fish shucked from the River Dane. Other days she had found hares in the brush. Once she brought down a ram in the Hinterlands and they had to haul the carcass on the back of her horse for the next few days. She could track and hunt larger if need be, and now they had made camp she probably would. If Fergus Cousland was the best tracker they had in the Wilds now, his sister could only be a benefit to the Wardens.

“What news on the horde?” he asked.

“Coming up quickly. There’s no sign of the Archdemon. Some in camp are whispering that they don’t think this is a real Blight, but we know better. They’ll reach us sometime after dark tonight.” Duncan scowled. Grigor smirked. “No rest for the wicked, eh?” he laughed. “The King has called a war council after dinner to finalize the plan, so you know. Teyrn Loghain’s had his men working double-time to clear the ruins across the bridge. He’s got something planned for the big central tower, but I hear they found some weird tunnels they have to make sure are safe before they can move on it.” Duncan nodded, then dismissed the man.

“I’ll prepare the recruits. You get down to the main camp with the others and let them know I want to meet with them once I send the Joining Party out. If they find this Watchtower…well…” The Grey Warden gave him a salute, then left. Duncan glanced down at Angus who cocked his head to one side in question. Duncan just sighed again.

***

He had been there a thousand times before. The Grey Warden camp was a bright light in the midst of a great deal of nervousness in his camp. They were legends, those men. He wished, not for the first time, that he had been as lucky as Alistair to join their number, or his father to fight beside them. Their adventures and glory were the things every little boy dreamt of, him included. Trapped as he was in political nightmares, some escapist fantasy was welcome.

They greeted him like they always did, with a seat by the fire and goblet of the worst wine he had ever tasted. But he drank it anyway, and grinned, and fell into the easy mood that his people loved him for.

“The recruits are being tested today,” one of the Wardens was saying. “Alistair’s taking them.”

“Poor lad. He’s too soft-hearted. I don’t know how he will react if they do badly.” Cailin had Duncan’s assurance that none of the other Grey Wardens were aware Alistair was his brother, but he was a little on edge at the mention regardless. He looked up.

“New recruits?” he asked. The Wardens grinned.

“Fresh blood,” one laughed, then took a deep guzzle of the wine, letting it spill down his giant beard. Grigor, he was called. He drank it down like water. “Three of them.”

“Who are they?” Cailin asked, curious. This was the first time he had really considered that the Grey Wardens recruited new members. Obviously they did, but he had never really put thought into it before. Suddenly he had a sinking suspicion and wanted it confirmed.

“The first is a slimy little thief from Denerim, cut Duncan’s purse, earned him a recruiting,” a lean, black-haired man said with a grin.

“Sounds like a good lad to have around really,” another laughed. The Wardens came from all walks of life. Some had been bandits, others warlords, and some were knights and nobles or the sons of lesser Banns.

“Then there’s Ser Jory,” another Warden said, standing by the tents sharpening an axe. “He’s from Redcliffe, a knight, but he was living in Highever. He said Duncan sent him on ahead since he was looking to test one more. Don’t know what I think of him though.”

“He’s a glory hound,” the dark haired Warden said flatly. “Seems more talk than action to me.” Cailin blinked, looking into his wine a moment, then licked his lips.

“Do you know who the third is?” Grigor poured himself another goblet and grinned.

“A girl.” There was a chorus of cheers from the other Wardens. All of them were men, and a woman Warden was unusual, though historically some of their greatest leaders had been women. “Duncan had been looking at one of the Cousland knights, according to that Jory fellow, someone called Ser Gilmore. But today he came back with a woman, Daveth said, and I confirmed it with him. She’s definitely his recruit.”

“Women make some of the best Wardens,” one of the others said simply.

“So who is she?” the man sharpening his axe said, hooking the thing back on his belt.

“Lady Eideann Cousland, known in some circles as the Flame of Highever,” Grigor grinned.

The last Ferelden noblewoman to join the Grey Wardens had been Arlessa Sophia Dryden, and she had become the Warden-Commander before King Arland had evicted them from the country.

“They say she’s as sharp as a blade and as quick as deathroot poison,” the black haired Warden said. “She skins her suitors and sends the leather back to their families.”

“I heard she’s so beautiful, if you look at her you turn to stone,” another grinned.

“Oh for Maker’s sake,” Cailin laughed, rising again and setting aside the goblet still half full. “Lady Eideann is formidable and skilled, and yes she’s quite pretty, but she’s not a myth, gentlemen.” He was grimacing inwardly however. How could he not have realized sooner Duncan’s intention.

“Aye, that may be,” Grigor said, “but the question is will she be a good Warden?” It sounded almost poignant coming from him.

“And how will Alistair handle her?” the black haired Warden grinned. “That boy’s so naïve I think he’d be surprised to discover his own balls.”

“Alistair likes to follow, not lead,” Grigor sniffed, smiling. “He’ll follow her around like a lost puppy and she’ll have him wrapped around her finger so tight he’ll be lost. That boy always did want to play knight to some lady. He’ll probably love it.” Cailin did not know what to make of this conversation, but he was intrigued. For all they shared blood, Cailin knew very little about Alistair as a person, and this particular fact was of note.

Alistair did not like to lead. And judging from his experience earlier he was also loathe to engage in conflict at all. He ranat the beck and call of others.

Cailin sighed.

On the one hand, Alistair could never challenge him, and he did not seem the sort to want to, which was a blessing and a boon. But on the other, he was the last of Maric’s bloodline. Cailin and Anora had no heir, and his queen may never bear him one. For the time being, his heir was, in fact, Alistair. It was a frightful idea to have such a passive heir at all.

“Gentlemen, I must go,” Cailin said suddenly, a thought occurring to him. “I will see you all on the field.” That was met with well wishes and goodbyes. So feeling unsettled, Cailin wandered back towards the camp, hoping to cross paths with Eideann Cousland or Duncan and try to make the whole damn thing right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair meets Eideann; Eideann undergoes the Joining; King Cailin begins to weigh the cost of his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Warnings

The knight he had seen crossing the bridge was like a beacon of light in the weariness of ancient Ostagar. The army was full of people who were tired from the battles and growing disheartened from the looming threat. Frightened people scurried here and there, trying to find any solace they could. But this knight, this woman, had crossed the bridge beside Duncan with all the authority of the warriors of legend, and people had gotten out of her way, stood taller as she passed. Now, he realized with a start, she was standing at the top of the steps, waiting for him, leaning against the ancient ruined doorway with her arms crossed while he argued with a mage.

His face burned. He was being toyed with. Even as a Grey Warden, he could not escape being subject to the will of the Revered Mother. Nor could he avoid being entangled in the dispute between mages and Templars. He had given up that life and even so he was tainted by association.

“What is it now?” the mage demanded in a voice that spoke of weariness and barely concealed anger. He was a senior mage, well above being sent a messenger who hadn’t even taken his Templar vows. It was meant as an insult, and they both knew it. 

“I bring a message from the Revered Mother, Ser Mage,” he tried explaining. “She desires your presence.”

“What the Revered Mother desires is of no concern to me. You can tell her I am helping the Grey Wardens,” the mage snapped back, “at the King’s command no less.” Alistair grimaced.

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” The mage shot him a glare so harsh he was amazed to discover he was not alight in magical flames for the trouble. 

“I will not be harassed in this manner!” the mage stated, his pitch rising slightly. 

“Yes,” Alistair grumbled, fully conscious of being watched. “I was harassing you by delivering a message.” The mage was about the protest when the knight at the doorway interjected.

Her voice was the strong, clear sort that immediately demanded attention. She stepped between them, her eyes as dark as rain, and Alistair and the mage both drew up short.

“Enough! Save your venom for the darkspawn, gentlemen. There’s enough blood to spill from our enemies that we shouldn’t have to seek it out here.” She looked to the senior enchanter, who was taken aback when she issued an order, “Go and take this argument to the woman who began it, ser. She does not expect you too come too quickly, I imagine. But you should go with all haste, and furious, and let the world know a mage is not to be summoned like a fool.” The man stared a moment, then at her nod he turned away, a little perplexed, watching them as he departed down the steps without another argument to the contrary. Then the woman turned on Alistair. “And you, I should not have to tell you to keep the King’s peace.”

“Duncan says we’re all to get along,” he admitted. “But the Revered Mother ambushed me.” The knight gave him a look so dark he immediately felt ashamed. 

“An old woman convinced you to start trouble, and you expect to win a decisive victory against the darkspawn when you can’t even stand up to her?” she sighed, then turned to face him head on. “You must be Alistair, if you’re familiar with Duncan.” 

“That’s right.” He considered her. “And you are Duncan’s new recruit. We were expecting a man, to be honest. Ser Jory said – “  
“He planned to test Ser Gilmore,” she finished, and it seemed for a moment like the name alone pained her. Perhaps they were not on good terms? 

“Yes,” Alistair affirmed slowly. The knight looked away a moment, then drew a breath.

“This Joining Ritual…” He felt his blood cool a little, nervous at a question she had not even managed to ask.

“I can’t tell you much at the moment.”

“It kills recruits, doesn’t it?” Alistair blinked. How had she…? She read the truth of it in him and nodded to herself. “I thought…the way Duncan had brought it up, the way he talks about it. So it was all for nothing, fleeing here. I might die all the same.” She closed her eyes a moment. “I wonder if you might do me a favor?” So sudden to ask for a favor from him. They had only just met.

“I…” he grimaced. “It would depend…”

“If I die in this ritual, please tell my brother.” Alistair waited for more instructions, but none came, so he finally had to ask.

“Who is your brother?” She paused then, realizing he did not know who she was. Clearly he was supposed to know who she was, then, and that was probably nobility since only nobles believed everyone should be able to recognize them. No wonder people had behaved themselves when she crossed the bridge. He felt a metallic taste in his mouth at that.

“I…sorry, I am not at my best. Beg pardon, I thought I had told you,” she said sharply, seeming genuinely troubled by her own omission, not by his lack of knowledge. “I am Eideann. My brother is Fergus. He’ll be with Highever’s men after the battle.” 

“Fergus…” he filed the name away, because his Chantry lessons were failing him. In any case, that was all he was getting apparently. She did not expand further on her family tree – why would she if she presumed he should know her? Instead she simply looked him over. 

“So the other knight? This Ser Gilmore?” he asked, hoping for a little more to go on. 

“It’s…a long story,” she said quietly. “For now, I have a question.” He was not exactly in a position to deny her, so he nodded and she shifted her weight. “How many darkspawn are in that horde?” He knew the answer they had told the troops, and he knew the real numbers. He decided this Eideann should know the real numbers, the stark truth. 

“The horde is ten thousand strong, and growing. Every time we battle them, they grow while our numbers shrink. If we cannot hold out tonight…” The silence between them was absolute. Eideann was grim faced, her eyes a little glassy. 

“I understand.” He had been fair and given her the truth. She held herself like a trained knight, and why not with some noble training behind her? The way the pair of mismatched swords lay on her back, it was clear she was comfortable enough to handle them. The shield he was not so sure of, and it was a fancy thing from what he could see. He grimaced, feeling like there should be more to say, so he told her what he could.

“The Wardens have been given a place of honor in the vanguard,” he said. “I think Cailin likes the idea of fighting alongside legends.”

“He’ll fight at the fore?” she asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“So he says. Perhaps Teyrn Loghain will convince him otherwise before the time comes?” Eideann was still pondering something, the intrigues of nobles perhaps, and did not share her thoughts, but she did sigh.

“I have a few more stops to make before I return to Duncan. Do you mind accompanying me? I don’t know my way around yet.” At first he thought she was asking for an escort. He nearly declined the honor, embarrassed at the thought, but then he realized she really did look quite lost. 

“Where do you need to go?”

“The Ash Warriors first,” she told him, “and then to the Highever camp. I…I must speak with the Commander there and see if I can get word to my brother. They…they don’t know I was recruited.” He was a little confused as to how they would not know, but agreed, cautiously.

The Ash Warriors had pitched their tents where the Korcari Wilds swallowed the Imperial Highway. All about them, vicious mabari growled low in their throats or snapped at them. The Ash Warriors were berserkers, battling side by side with their dogs, descended from the barbarian Clayne. Why Eideann had brought them there was a mystery to Alistair, until she exchanged a few choice words with an Ash Warrior with black tattoos plastered across his face. He was bigger than the others, and his dog was a pitch black painted with a white Kaddis warpaint that stank of Ferelden warhounds. The man himself was coated in the stuff as well. In battle, blinded by war, mabari relied on scent to tell friend from foe.

That was, apparently, what they had come for.

“Char black,” Eideann told the man gruffly. “Or ochre if you have it.” She paid for it with coin that marked her as a noble, even though she looked a mess in bloodied armor, her hair hacked at odd lengths. Alistair had only just noticed that while staring at the back of her head as she spoke to the Ash Warriors. He realized she had done it herself, and recently. What was this woman’s story?

The Ash Warrior finally took her coin, pressing a tin of the pungent kaddis paint, black this time, into her hands. She opened it to examine it, bending to smell the odor of it, then nodded and their bysiness was done. She led Alistair away from the Ash Warriors in silence then, pocketing the tin of kaddis. One of the men in their wake barked at him as they departed, and Alistair blushed when he realized the entendre behind it. They were calling him her dog. Where was her dog anyway? Why buy kaddis if she had no dog? The creature must be around somewhere.

He directed her next to the Highever camp, where he sometimes played cards with the other Wardens. They were often with the Highever men of late because their stories were still new. News had proven particularly hard to come by from the north of late. Anyway, Highever had always been good to the Wardens. 

Eideann thanked him as they approached, but he could feel the tension in her voice. He realized it was his presence that was the issue almost a moment too late, when a soldier recognized him and began to cross to them. He stepped backwards, giving Eideann some space, and the soldier looked confused before looking to her. Something like recognition dawned on his face, mixed with horror, and he ushered her into the camp then. 

Alistair waited as the Commander was fetched, and some words and embraces were exchanged. There was some arguing he could not hear, some pointing in his direction, and then she nodded and took her leave. When she rejoined him, tears stood in her eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked her. She nodded, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes and drawing herself up. 

“I will be fine,” she said quietly. “Come. We must not keep Duncan waiting.” The way she said his name was like a curse, and it made Alistair uncomfortable to hear it. Who was this noblewoman to think she could drag him around the camp, look down on Duncan of all people, and make him wait like her retainer? But he followed her towards the Grey Warden bonfire where Duncan would be waiting. 

He was there, alright, with Ser Jory and Daveth and a giant black and grey mabari. The Warden-Commander had his arms crossed, facing the flames that danced on the pyre of logs and branches. It was there to ward off the chill, to mark the King’s camp among many. But there was something ritualistic in it too. It would burn until the battle was done, a reminder of the costs should they fail.

The mabari leapt up and ambled to their side to fall into step beside Eideann as they approached. She put out a hand to lay on the scruff of his neck and the dog gave a low keen before turning to stare at Alistair, weighing him up perhaps. Alistair stared back until the mabari gave what could only be a grin and turned away again, deciding he was not a threat.

Daveth was a thin, dark man with finger-flipping knife skills and a deadly aim with a bow. Duncan had brought him to be Joined rather than hanged for filching his purse some weeks ago. He looked up at their approach, one eyebrow cocked slightly like he was trying to work them out. No doubt Eideann was an unusual sight. 

The other man was a little balder, a little rounder, and a little more noble, and a knight. Ser Jory had his back to them, his greatsword over his shoulder, but when he caught Daveth staring he turned to look. When he saw Alistair’s companion, his eyes went wide.

“My Lady!” he gasped, bowing low, a near grovel. “Forgive me, if I had known you were to be here…” He paused. “Where is Ser Gilmore?” Eideann met his gaze, her eyes flat.

“Dead, I would think, like everyone else.” Jory bristled.

“Dead? What of the town?”

“Safe enough, I imagine. Ordinary citizens were not the target.” She said it with a tone of voice that made Alistair feel cold, as if she believed ordinary citizens were beneath her. Ser Jory looked relieved, then sick at feeling relieved. He was originally from Redcliffe, serving under Arl Eamon, but he had gone to Highever when he fell in love with a washerwoman there, and now he called it home. 

“Then you…”

“Eideann will be joining the Grey Wardens, the same as you,” Duncan said, watching them. Eideann looked away, saying nothing further, instead removing the lid from the kaddis tin and smearing it across her dog, then her armor in odd symbols that probably meant something or other. Duncan watched her work, then considered the recruits. 

“So you are ready,” he finally said. Daveth shifted nervously.

“I heard you’ll be sending us into the Wilds,” he said. 

“Even so,” Duncan replied. “You four will be journeying into the Korcari Wilds to complete two tasks.” Two? Alistair’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly. What was the second? “The first is to collect three vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.” Ser Jory looked sick again. Alistair scanned Daveth and Eideann. The thief was grim but resolute. Eideann, he noticed, had eyes as dark as a stormy sea.

“Finally,” she said. Even Duncan looked surprised she had spoken. “What is the second task?”

“Deep in the Korcari Wilds is an old Grey Warden outpost, long since abandoned. It has recently come to our attention that some documents may have been left there. You are to find the watchtower and retrieve the documents.”

“Documents?” Alistair asked. 

“They are ancient treaties if you must know, promising aid to the Grey Wardens during Blights. They were once only a formality, but with so many having forgotten their agreements to us…” He did not need to finish. 

“Why where they left there?” Alistair asked, confused.

“They were sealed safely away. It was assumed we would one day return. Lots of things were assumed that have not come to be,” Duncan said, sounding a little bitter. He glanced to Alistair. “Keep your charges safe, Alistair.” With that he drew forth a roll of paper and held it out for Alistair to take. It was a map of the watchtower’s approximately location. Eideann looked at it over his shoulder, then nodded, and Alistair realized she had already determined where to go. He wondered if she was good in the woods, then realized she must be to come from the maze-like hills of the Coastlands.

“We will be back,” Alistair said, a quiet promise, and Duncan met his eyes with a nod. 

In a way, Alistair was relieved. It was the first action he’d been allowed as a Warden since his Joining six months prior, as though Duncan had been determined to keep him safe. But this was tradition, the newest member escorting recruits on their Joining, and he had insisted on being allowed to take part.

But as they headed into the Wilds, armed to the teeth, Eideann’s grinning mabari bounding at their side, he had an inkling of terror. The horde was close, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like there was true danger.

***

Alistair had not fought in the other battles. It was clear to her now as the potential for death in the Joining Ritual had been. He looked wary, and he had the quiet, somber demeanor of a man who was quite sure of his own reactions. Certainly he was trained. He was a Grey Warden, and she had also noticed he moved with the grace of Chantry training. He was a Templar, or near enough to. But he was untested yet. And that concerned her.

“Angus,” she said firmly, giving a sharp, low whistle. Angus’s ears pricked and he gave a low growl. Alistair was watching her.

“Angus?” he asked after a moment, as if testing the name. Then he met her eyes. “What are you telling him to do?”

“Wolves,” Eideann said, pointing with the tip of her sword towards the signs her tracker-trained eyes had seen. Angus will give us warning. I’d rather die fighting darkspawn than wolves, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Right.” The Grey Warden looked too young, Eideann thought a little grimly. He had an open face that betrayed his emotions, whatever they happened to be at the time. His hair was a deep bronze, and the dusting of beard scruff seemed almost deliberate. His eyes were amber, like molten gold, and narrowed now to consider her. 

He did not trust her. He did not like her. She did not care.

Daveth moved silently at her side, giving a low series of clicks into the woodland, which was repeated back at them from various directions. The birds and the small animals were still around.

“No wolves close,” he reported, “else they’d all be gone.” He glanced to Alistair. “Where is this tower? We should tend to that first if we can.” 

“We only have until nightfall,” Ser Jory reminded them. He looked nervous.

“West,” Eideann said, focusing on the misty sunlight a moment before working out the direction through the swamps. “The tower is to the west.” 

But they did not find the tower first. Instead, within the swamp, they found the remains of a slaughtered scouting band. Eidean’s heart skipped a beat when she thought of Fergus, out here in these woods, but the horses were dappled, and the armor was grey iron, and so they were not Fergus’s men.

One man was alive, but dying, and Alistair bent to consider his wounds with hooded eyes. Eideann stood over him, watching the man tell his story on his dying breath. Darkspawn had come from the very ground, overcome the scouting band in moments. The thick scent of darkspawn taint was crawling from him, even as tendrils of black crept through the veins across his face. Alistair looked ill. It was Eideann who knelt at last to open the man’s veins and give him the mercy of a quick death.

“You did not have to do that,” Alistair told her quietly. She fixed her eyes on his, realizing he had a soft heart as well, and it may yet cost them their lives.

“The taint was in his blood already, and he was too far gone. That,” she motioned to the body before wiping her blade on the tainted grasses, “was a mercy.”

“Maker’s breath,” Ser Jory muttered. “This is too dangerous. We should go back.”

“Don’t be a coward,” Eideann said sharply.

“I am no coward,” he bristled. “Do you see me fleeing? This entire patrol was killed by darkspawn. What good can the four of us do? How many can we kill?” It was Alistair who spoke before Eideann could say another word. She realized as he did that his accent was of Redcliffe and the Hinterlands, and wondered briefly if he and Ser Jory had known one another before this. 

“A little fear isn’t unnatural,” he said soothingly, a voice like smooth honey and soft winds. “Few relish meeting darkspawn. I know I don’t.” A flicker of irritation went through Eideann, because they were on a mission for Grey Wardens and the man had just admitted a fear of darkspawn. But then she grimaced, shaking her head.

“I’m the only warrior here,” she spat the challenge, hoping an insult to their dignity would do what kind words of comfort would not. Alistair just looked at her calmly, seeing right through the ploy.

“I know I’m relying on you to protect me. Bloodthirstiness is such a charming feature, did you know that?” It was such a soft and gentle jab that she was silenced by it. Alistair looked back at Ser Jory who seemed out of place in the swamp. “Know this: all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. There are darkspawn about, but we are in no danger of running into the bulk of the horde. That is why I’m here.” 

The revelation made Eideann suspicious, and she wondered what else Grey Wardens could do, and how. But she backed down, nudging Angus forward with the back of her hand gentle of his shoulder. He gave a gruff woof and trotted on, so she followed, leaving the others behind.

“If they are about, we can get the blood first and carry on to the tower afterward. If you really can sense them, can’t they sense you too? Maybe they’re at this watchtower for just that reason,” she suggested over her shoulder. “In any case, time is wasting.” 

The darkspawn, when they did finally cross paths, were beasts, grunting and roaring, twisted and grey and dark. Stories said their blood was black, but it was red like anyone else’s. The only difference was it burned a little when it splashed on their skin, fizzling on their armor, acidic apparently. Ser Jory, Alistair with his sword and shield, and Eideann made up their front line when Angus did not beat them to it. For a moment she worried as he ended up with mouthfuls of darkspawn blood. The mabari in the camp were being corrupted from such battles, and she did not think she could bear losing Angus too after all of this. 

Daveth was the one who helped her solve that problem. He stopped her, gripping her arm as they moved up the trail, to point out a white flower with a blood-red center growing from the mulch of a rotted log.

“The kennelmaster was looking for those,” he said, eyeing up Angus. “He said it helps dogs that get the taint. You may…just in case, you know…” Eideann nodded and plucked it, packing it away carefully into a small pack at her belt and feeling grateful. When she saw more, she would tuck them away as well. 

The watchtower was infested, and it was easy then to collect the blood they needed. Eideann filled her vial and pushed that into her pouch too, hissing at the blood on her hands that felt corrosive and wrong. She scrubbed them clean in the brackish swamp-water, preferring dirt to the taint, and then rose to climb the final hill to the broken remains of the watchtower.

It was Tevinter in origin, filled with rubble but small. It had probably only been one room at best when standing. Rotted beams and stone and to be cleared away before at last they unearthed a shattered, rusted chest. Eideann peered at it darkly, and Alistair sighed heavily.

“Gone,” he muttered. 

“Well, well, what have we here?” Eideann spun about, surprised to have missed anyone’s approach, she had been so alert since Highever. A woman stood where no one had been before, on the upper platform of the tower, skin exposed to the chill of the Wilds air through her leather and feathered clothing. She looked every inch a barbarian. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” The woman had descended the steps, black boots silent on the ancient stones. Her eyes were an odd yellow. Eideann moved towards her slowly, putting herself at the forefront before Alistair, Ser Jory, Daveth, even Angus.

“What say you?” the woman asked, crossing her arms. “Scavenger or intruder?” At her back was a twisted staff of black heartwood, tied with beads and animal claws. 

“I could ask the same,” Eideann said softly, her voice dangerously flat. “This was a Grey Warden tower once.”

“Tis a tower no longer,” the woman scoffed, cutting through them and crossing to the tall windows where watchmen would have stood overlooking the lands below, perhaps even before the Wilds were swamps and trees. It could have been defensible once. Now…well now it made no sense it ever stood where it did at all, so far from everything. What were they watching for? “I have watched your progress for some time. Where do they go? I wondered. Why are they here? And now you disturb ashes none of have touched for so long…” she glanced back, her black hair winding into a knot at the back of her head. Those yellow eyes fixed on Eideann’s Cousland Blues. Eideann stepped forward again, once more putting herself before the others, considering the woman. “Why is that?” the dark woman asked quietly, judging the answers.

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair said softly, his voice not an authoritative bark but still enough to still her a moment. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”

“Ohh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” the woman mocked.

“Yes, swooping is bad,” Alistair said drily, glaring at her.

“I know what she is,” Daveth said, suddenly sounding grim and fearful. “She’s a Witch of the Wilds. She’ll turn is into toads!”

“Witch of the Wilds…” the woman sounded like she was tasting the flavor of the title, considering it. Then she sighed and looked back to Eideann. “You there, women don’t frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

“Eideann,” she said simply, making her decision and damn what the others thought. The Chasind had stood against Tevinter. The Chasind were the vestiges of the ancient Alamarri. And this woman…this Witch of the Wilds, foolish as those legends were, would not get the better of her. She had knowledge they needed, Eideann was sure of it.

“And you,” the woman said, “may call me Morrigan.” The air between them was suddenly still, like the Wilds themselves had decided this was an exchange to watch. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something which is here no longer?” 

“Here no longer?!” Alistair grimaced. “You stole them didn’t you? You’re some kind of sneaky…witch-thief!” Morrigan’s look was flat. Eideann pursed her lips. Could the man really be so foolish?

“How very eloquent,” the Wilds woman said, her voice even. 

“Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them!” Alistair said, and Eideann raised her chin slightly, willing herself to calm. Alistair had just told the woman exactly what they were looking for. Eideann was almost certain she had not truly known before, not what they wanted nor who they were. She decided if she survived this she would make sure Alistair was not allowed to try being tactful again any time soon.

“I will not,” Morrigan said frankly. “T’was not I who removed them.”

“Who did?” Eideann said simply. Morrigan’s eyes slid to her slowly.

“T’was my mother, in fact.”

“Will you take us there?” The sun was slipping down while they wasted time here. 

“Now that is a sensible request. I like you,” Morrigan said, smiling, and Eideann relaxed slightly, realizing Morrigan was the sort who liked direct answers, blunt replies, and did not care a lick for what was right or proper. She was probably a mage, hiding out as an apostate in the Wilds with her mother, and living outside of Chantry and political law. People like her were hunted down by Templars, so she understood Alistair’s unease when he nudged her.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” She looked to him.

“You’ve already told her who we are and what we wanted, even when she had not really asked. I am sure getting what we want now is in line with our goals,” was all she would say.

“We should get the treaties, but I dislike this Morrigan’s sudden appearance. It’s too convenient.” Eideann agreed with that wholeheartedly.

Morrigan’s mother lived not too far away, in a shack built against a leaning Tevinter tower that stuck out of the swamps at an odd angle. It seemed almost like a path leading to it, lined with statues holding bowls of ethereal flames. The hut itself was nothing grand, but the land around it was a swallowed palace, and that made Eideann uneasy. 

They were met at the door by an elderly woman with the same sharp yellow eyes. Her face was sunken in age, blotted with wrinkles and sun-spots. She considered them wryly. 

“Mother, I bring four Grey Wardens who – “

“I see them, girl,” the woman interrupted. “Much as I expected.”

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair said, a short laugh betraying his discomfort. Eideann crossed her arms.

“You are required to do nothing,” the woman said, “least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide, either way one’s a fool.” Eideann narrowed her gaze. 

“She’s a witch, I tell you!” Daveth protested, shifting from foot to foot.

“Quiet,” Ser Jory said, his voice strained. The old woman grinned with one side of her mouth, then looked to Eideann.

“And what of you? Does your woman’s mind give you a different viewpoint, or do you believe as these boys do?” Boys again, Eideann noticed, and realized that was what this was about. Morrigan and her mother had no trust of men, and perhaps that was for good reasons. But she was the one weighing them up for the group, and it was she they would speak to.

“I don’t know what to believe,” she said frankly. “You may be this Witch of the Wilds. You may be apostate mages hiding in these swamps. You may be Chasind or any number of other affiliations. And frankly, I have no way of knowing at the moment. I am here for one reason and one only.” The old witch gave a toothy grin and backed away, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“So much about you is uncertain,” she mused. “And yet I believe….do I?” She almost sounded surprised at herself. “Yes, I believe I do.” She considered her then, and smirked. “But enough of this. You came for your treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, I have protected these.” She held out her hand and Morrigan placed a number of tied scrolls into the waiting appendage. Then she held them out to Eideann who took them, noting the seals were broken long ago.

“You…oh. You protected them.” Alistair sounded taken aback, expecting foul play. Eideann tucked the documents away inside her breastplate where the darkspawn blood would pose no risk to the delicate papers.

“And why not?” the old woman said with a little affront. 

“Thank you,” Eideann said, and the woman looked surprised.

“Such manners. Always in the last place you expect. Like stockings.” She smiled and then nodded to Morrigan. “These are your guests, dear. Do see them safely home.” Morrigan took a moment, then sighed. 

“Very well,” she relented. “I shall lead you out of the Wilds.” 

Angus trotted along by Eideann as they made their way back through the swamps, a smaller path they they had taken at first, and seemingly dangerous, but faster. They were upon the gates almost before they were aware they had reached them. Daveth narrowed his eyes, and Ser Jory looked perplexed. Alistair pushed through the gates without looking back, finally leading them for once. Eideann glanced back, expecting to see Morrigan retreating into the Wilds again, but the woman had disappeared. Or rather the woman had morphed into the shape of a raven before winging off into the night.

Definitely an apostate then. Eideann turned back to see that the others had left her behind, so she hurried to catch up, feeling less like a job well done and more like a walk to the gallows with every step she took. 

***

The torches flickered in the growing wind as the storm that had been threatening the mountains all day finally drew down from the peaks and crept towards the encampment. Off in the Wilds to the south, a trail of fire marked the impending horde, which would be on them before the dawn broke. The ruins were grim and grey in the dark, jagged teeth across the gaping maw of the valley, shattered and laid waste by time and the fall of the Imperium. 

They stood in the temple where Eideann had first met Alistair, but it looked more sinister in the darkness. Only a small candle flickered on the table for light, casting lengthy shadows across them that whirled in witch-dances around the tabletop in the wind. On the table was a chalice, empty and ominous, the top a gaping maw of cut crystal.

The silence threatened to consume them.

Ser Jory was restless, looking between them all. Daveth was also on edge, but his was the quiet caution of rangers and sneaks. Alistair would not even meet their eyes. She wondered if she had done something to annoy him. 

Eideann crossed her arms over her bloodied armor, feeling the weight of ritual settle over them like heavy blankets on a cold night, both comforting and restricting. 

Duncan slowly ascended the steps. He walked through them, removing three vials from a pouch at his belt. One was the acidic blue color of lyrium that swirled in the candle-light, though it would glow even under moonlight. The other was a vial of what appeared to be blood, red and staining the sides of the glass tube in his hands. The third was pitch black, and it made Eideann’s skin crawl to see it. She watched as he poured the first two vials into the chalice, swirling it slightly until they mixed. Then he added a single drop of the black, and the entire chalice seemed to stir like a living thing before settling into a pool of sinister red. 

“We will begin the Joining,” Duncan said, taking up the chalice with both hands and turning to them all. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the brink of annihilation.” His eyes were black. “So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint. This is the source of our power and our victory.” His eyes slipped to Alistair who was still and solemn.

“We’re going to drink darkspawn blood?” Ser Jory said in alarm. Eideann wanted to laugh. Her words weeks back to Duncan in the Bannorn about being a sort of darkspawn had not been so far off the mark then. Duncan simply addressed them all with the reply.

“As we did before you, and all others did before us. I would not have recruited you had I not believed you could survive.” He looked between them. “It is too late to turn back now.” There was a tone of finality in his voice that made Eideann draw in a deep breath. She had made the promise to her father. There was no turning back for her anyway. 

“Fine. Let’s get on with it, then,” she said simply. Duncan nodded.

“We say only a few words before the Joining, but these words have been spoken since the first. Alistair?” Alistair finally uncrossed his arms and began to intone something that made Eideann feel cold all over.

“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn, and know that should you perish, your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, and one day we shall join you.” He looked to them then, and there was a genuine fear in his eyes. He honestly believed they were going to die. Maybe they all would. Drinking poison hardly seemed a viable career option really. 

Daveth stepped forward first, because he had been recruited first, and because in his words ‘I was saved from the hangman’s noose, so I may as well see it through properly’. 

He drank deeply of the cup, and for a moment it seemed all would be well. But then he began to cough, to gasp for breath. And then he fell. He did not get up again.

“I’m sorry, Daveth,” Duncan said quietly. Eideann wondered if that was all she would get when she died. Duncan turned next to Ser Jory who was shaking in his boots. Worse, the man had wet himself. Maker’s breath.

“Ser Jory, step forward. There is no turning back.” Ser Jory drew his sword. Duncan set the cup down on the stone table and drew his own sword. It was over in seconds. Duncan had the fluid grace of a duelist, and he put it to good use, knocking aside Jory’s greatsword with ease and driving the point home. Eideann stared in horror, watching as Ser Jory died at the swordpoint. Alistair was staring in horror beside her. 

“But the Joining is not yet complete,” Duncan said softly, sheathing his sword as Ser Jory slipped to the floor. He took up the cup again and turned to her. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.” Eideann thought then of her family, of Howe, of the resolve that had turned to steel in her heart. There would be no justice without this step. So she reached to take the cup, and she drank a mouthful.

It was corrosive, bitter, and strong. She coughed, and her head ached so strongly she thought it might split in two, and then her eyes rolled back into her head and she stumbled forward. 

There was a dragon, black and twisted, and it stared at her with blank eyes before roaring a piercing, shrieking roar. And then, everything went black.

She woke to see Alistair crouching beside her, and Duncan above him. Both were watching her with concern, but when she tried to sit up, Alistair sat back with a look of relief. 

“Thank the Maker,” he breathed, rising and offering her a hand to help her. She took it, her head still aching. Duncan nodded.

“It is finished. Welcome,” he told her. 

“Two more deaths,” Alistair said mournfully, shaking his head. “I’m glad at least one of you survived.” Duncan looked her over again.

“How do you feel?” Eideann glanced between them, then looked around, but Daveth and Jory were gone, nothing remained, not even the pool of blood that had been spreading beneath Jory. 

“I…I’m fine. It’s done,” she said quietly, forcing herself not to think on it. She noticed Angus nearby and he padded across the join her, gently licking her hand. 

“Did you have dreams?” Alistair asked. “I had horrible dreams at my Joining.” She just nodded, unable to really describe all that she could remember, which was not much. Alistair seemed to understand as much, because he carefully drew something from his pocket. “Here. Before I forget. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant, to remind us of those who didn’t make it this far.” Eideann did not think of Daveth and Jory then. She thought of Highever, and took it quickly, looping the silver chain about her neck in a hurry and tucking it away. It was a chilling reminder to hold close to her heart. Alistair looked a little put off, but then he drew back, resolved to say nothing. 

“When you are ready,” Duncan added, “I would like you to accompany me to a meeting with the King.”

“Why me?” 

“He has asked for you personally,” Duncan said.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Alistair said flatly, and she could tell from his tone of voice something was wrong. “He might get mad, and then he’ll cry, and that would be awful.”

“Did I do something to offend you?” Eideann said grimly.

“Me? Why do you care about me?” he said back, his eyes narrow. Duncan looked between them.

“Is there a problem?” he asked in a warning tone. 

“I don’t know,” Eideann said, truthfully, because she had not yet worked out what to think of this untried ex-Templar who seemed to think so little of her. “But we shouldn’t keep the King waiting.” Alistair shot her a dark look, then stalked off, and Duncan sighed before giving her a nod and descending the steps himself. Eideann took a moment to collect herself. Alistair was a problem for a different time when she was not desperately trying to hold herself together. For now, her attention must be on this coming battle, or she would find herself to dead to care much about anything either way.

***

Loghain was waiting for him at the long wooden table they had laid with all manner of maps and battle-plans. They were sequestered in the old temple ruin on the northern end of Ostagar, away from the camps and the tents. Everyone was armored and gathered. The Revered Mother stood at one end, and a Senior Mage from the circle, a creepy bald man called Uldred, was peering at the plans with disinterest. 

Duncan and Alistair were up in the ruined foyer at the far end of the temple, bent over something on the ground. Cailin watched, having nothing better to do aside from argue more with Loghain over things he had no intention of changing now, and narrowed his eyes as they drew back and someone slowly sat up from the ground. Alistair bent to give them a hand up. In the setting sunlight, Eideann Cousland’s hair was like a halo of different lengths. 

The Wardens exchanged some words, and Alistair took off in a huff. Duncan came down the steps and made his way towards the table. Eideann took a moment longer, but then she too joined them. 

Perhaps Loghain had been right after all. An Orlesian alliance had seemed necessary at the time, and his options were limited. Anora was getting no younger, but had he perhaps jumped too quickly to the conclusion that an Orlesian match could be the diplomatic leverage he needed? The Cousland line had always been strong, and the political alliances forged by the Couslands across Thedas made them powerful throughout the continent as well. Fergus himself had married an Antivan princess. 

Empress Celene had seemed a reasonable choice, and so he had promised her a second crown if she would send him her troops. But no aid had come from Orlais, and only strife among his own noblemen had resulted from his efforts. Could a Cousland alliance do what a Mac Tir one could not? he wondered, and filed the thought away. 

When his uncle had first suggested that he think about his heirs for Ferelden’s sake, not a year past, he had been furious. He went months without speaking to Arl Eamon after that. He had great respect and admiration for his wife. They had grown up together, after all. But as time had gone on, he had calmed down, and he had begun to see reason in his Uncle’s letter. After all, the kingdom was newly stable under his father, and the Theirin bloodline was the key to that stability. Without an heir, Ferelden would fall again to Orlesians or worse. 

It had seemed so natural to wed Anora. After all, Maric’s son and Loghain’s daughter were the sort of match made in legends. But in so doing, the Couslands, the oldest Teyrnur, had been left to their own devices. Loghain had been a commoner before he had been risen to Teyrn of Gwaren by Maric. His daughter was also a commoner save for that. It had seemed natural at the time, but it had made his father a few enemies for arranging the match. 

Not the Couslands. They were not bothered by Loghain’s rise to power. Their own power was secure and did not need Maric and anyone else to steady. The Couslands endured long before the Theirins, and would probably continue long after. Even Arl Rendon Howe’s attempt to massacre them had failed, as Eideann and Fergus still lived. They were weakened by they losses, undoubtedly, but not permanently crippled. There was iron in Cousland blood, and it held fast. 

With no heir and only speculation, Cailin realized he had thought of all this too late. His Uncle, Arl Eamon, had been right all along. Men died in battle, and he stood at the edge of the world to face the Blight itself from the front lines. He would fight proudly for his country, but he had not had the forethought to secure its safety should it cost him everything to protect it. He needed to make what amends he could, and quickly.

They said Grey Wardens could not hold titles, but the idea always seemed a little ridiculous to him. After all, the Grey Wardens ruled the Anderfels, and being a Grey Warden was an honor worthy of the highest respect. Surely such people, so dedicated and driven, so willing to sacrifice for others, and so brilliant as to defeat the Blight that almost destroyed the world, surely those people would be the very best a country could offer? Surely those people should be recognized as great leaders?

Alistair was his heir. And a woman as powerful as his own queen had come to join them at the table beside Duncan. 

“Let’s go over the plan” he said firmly. “The Grey Wardens and I will make our stand here.” He pointed to the Ostagar map. Loghain bent over the map with him.

“Then our men shall light beacon, signaling…”

“Signaling the main army to break from cover to flank the darkspawn. I remember. Who shall light this beacon?”

“I have men stationed there,” Loghain said simply, standing up again. Cailin considered his options. He was on the front lines. That was a commitment already made, and it was one he could not renege on. But now his heir would be there too, as would the only demonstrably alive Cousland scion, last of the powerful Teyrnirs. He did not like that lineup at all. His eyes slipped to Eideann across the table, and a chill went through him at the ferocity in his eyes. She had come to a similar conclusion about his fighting on the front lines, even if she did not know about Alistair. She understood what he was about to do.

“The signal is important,” he said. “We should send our best.” He was speaking to her, and he was speaking in code. Loghain was too inexperienced a politician to recognize what he was really saying, but the dark veil that crossed Eideann’s gaze assured him that she, at least, understood him. “Send Alistair and Eideann.” 

“I will do my best, your Majesty,” she said softly, without even a hint of argument. She was not agreeing to a simple mission, with that statement. She was agreeing to a lifetime of service, and she knew it. Duncan looked between them, sensing the supercharged air. Loghain gave a hiss like an angry cat.

“You put too much trust in these Grey Wardens,” he stated. Cailin turned on him.

“Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain!” he snapped, rising to his full height and confronting the man publicly. “Grey Wardens fight the Blight no matter where they are from.” For a moment they exchanged glares, then Loghain looked away.

“Fine,” he said, seething, and turned away. That may have been the last log on his pyre. 

The mage Uldred stepped up next.

“My Lord, the beacon is unnecessary. The mages and I –“ 

The Maker look down on all Revered Mothers, for they truly were the instruments of good. 

“We will not trust our lives to your spells, mage,” she said sharply. And that was that. The Chantry still ruled supreme over the Circle of Magi, and Uldred could argue no further. Especially since they all knew that beacon was very important. 

“So be it. The Grey Wardens and the King of Ferelden will fight together,” Cailin forced himself to say in his upbeat, childlike tone. Inside, he was stormy. Loghain looked back at him with hooded eyes.

“Yes, Cailin. Glory to us all,” he intoned in a flat voice. Cailing considered him a moment before watching the general stalk off into the night to ready his troops. He felt an inkling of warning at the back of his head. Instead of responding, he turned to Duncan and Eideann, waiting until the mage and the Revered Mother were out of earshot before looking at them both.

“Light that beacon, whatever happens,” he told Eideann grimly. She nodded, clasping a fist over her heart in a salute as old as Ferelden. Duncan was watching them, but Cailin did not wish to say too much. It was slowly dawning on him, however, that he no longer trusted his general to heed his words. If something did happen, if the plan did not go off as they had discussed…He took Eideann’s hand in his own then. “Your father once taught me a valuable lesson,” he said. “I should always keep my enemies close.” Something flickered in her gaze.

“It killed him in the end, your Majesty,” she told him in a quiet voice. Her eyes were an eerie color in the moonlight. It unsettled him. He nodded and released her hand.

“It may yet kill me. But you are not my enemy, Lady Cousland. Tell me, is it too late?” He knew the answer she would give because for a moment she looked every inch Bryce Cousland’s daughter, and Bryce Cousland had never lied to him or spared him the truth in all the years he had known him.

“Perhaps. But perhaps not. Either way, I will light that beacon, my Lord. And whatever happens afterwards, know this: the Couslands have stood with the Theirin line since the Alamarri Accords. That will not change with me.” Cailin nodded.

“Watch over Alistair,” he said, hoping the meaning might reach her. Then he looked to Duncan. “And thank you, my friend, for all you have done. The Blight stops here.”

“Your Majesty – “

“The Blight stops here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann shares her fears with Duncan; the Grey Wardens and the royal army meet the darkspawn at the Battle of Ostagar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, Character Death (canon)

King Cailin had finally seen reason, too little too late. Duncan had watched as the young man had assessed the situation, come to the realization that thirteen Grey Wardens could not hold off a Blight, and recognized that an entire darkspawn horde ten thousand strong would not be defeated solely by the men gathered here. King Cailin had begun to establish precautions almost the moment he had come to those conclusions, but they were late. Perhaps too late. 

Duncan crossed the camp towards the great bonfire where Alistair was waiting. At his side, Eideann Cousland was somber. Duncan’s mind was racing, reviewing that odd exchange between his newest Warden and the King over and over, and the more he thought about it the more he came to understand that King Cailin was now prepared to die on that field beside him.

It had been a stroke of genius to send Alistair and Eideann to light the beacon. It should keep them both well away from the fighting. He had no quite understood the secret conversation that had transpired between Eideann and Cailin back at the temple, and suspected he was not supposed to, but he did recognize enough to know that Cailin had been playing politics with his new recruit, not warleader, and Eideann had been at the same game. 

Perhaps she had been right after all when she told him in the Bannorn that Wardens were political beasts. He had not wanted to believe it, but it seemed more and more she had simply had the good sense to go into the whole thing with her eyes open.

She had a look in her eye now that was a far cry from the one he had seen since Highever. What had been defeat, fear, and the fiery anger of someone flailing wildly out of control was now replaced with severe focus and grim determination. This woman, her blood mingling with the darkspawn taint even now, had just sworn her entire house to the King before his very nose for reasons Duncan had not quite understood. But there was clearly something very wrong. 

To Cailin, Alistair was obviously the key, but Eideann Cousland was not privy to the information that Alistair was Maric’s second son. Whatever had transpired between her and the King regarding Cailin’s enemies then was unsettling. It suggested he was willing to share his suspicious, and even that darkest secret about Alistair, with Eideann Cousland, but he would not share it with Maric’s old friend Duncan. 

“The King is concerned,” he said suddenly. Eideann’s rainy Cousland gaze slid to him, pools of ice in the darkness.

“He should be.”

“Are you going to tell me why?” Her piercing eyes narrowed as she stopped to look at him. 

“Do you really want to know?” Duncan sighed.

“I have never seen King Cailin so serious in my entire life,” he said. “And I have known him almost his entire life. You are a Grey Warden, and I am the Commander of the Grey here in Ferelden. You tell me. Do you think I need to know?”

“Don’t let him fight on that field,” Eideann said as earnestly as she could. Duncan shook his head.

“That is not my choice.”

“Don’t let him. It isn’t a choice.” 

“I can’t tell the King of Ferelden to follow my orders.”

“But you can the Teyrna of Highever?” she shot back angrily, her temper sparking a little. Duncan fixed her with a look.

“Grey Wardens do not hold titles. Regardless, your brother is the Teyrn, not you, and you are now under my command as part of my Grey Warden forces, whether you will it or not.” His voice was calm. He thanked the Maker for the patience to handle this woman. “The king will do as he wishes.”

“If he goes down there,” Eideann said as clearly as he had ever heard her say anything, “he will die, and so will all of you. He must go, because he is the king and cannot cower from it now for the sake of his men. But even he knows this is a deathtrap. Don’t let him fight.”

“What are you talking about?” Duncan said in a low hiss.

“I will light that beacon with Alistair, but no help will come. If you take the field down in that valley, all of you will die.” Her voice was like steel. Duncan tried to conscience the thought, of what that would mean, and he did not like the answer he came to.

“Enough. The Teyrn will send his troops. This is a troubling conversation to be having, and it borders treason to even mention some of these things.” Eideann looked at him like it was a challenge.

“Why do you think the King spoke to the only person here with the potential to match Loghain in rank, then?” she demanded. He was quiet a moment, and then she sighed. “Why were you looking for me?” 

“Pardon?” What was that even supposed to mean? When? 

“At Highever, with my family dead or dying about me, you dragged me from that carnage on the sole promise I would join your order. When I asked about Ser Gilmore, you said yourself that I had been your first choice. You were there looking for me specifically. Why?” Everything about her was fierce in that moment. Duncan drew a breath.

“Now is not the time – “

“Tell me, or I will go straight to Loghain and confront him myself, as is my right as the only demonstrably living Cousland in the vicinity.” That was a sincere threat. He heard it in the tone of her voice. She would not take no for an answer.

“You reputation precedes you. I had heard of your swordsmanship. They call you the Flame of Highever.”

“That wasn’t your reason,” she said. “If you wanted a skilled swordsman you had the pick of an entire nation. Why pick a Teyrn’s daughter? There is only one reason for that.” She was right, and he did not want to admit it. So she said it for him. “You claim the Grey Wardens are not political, but you know that for a lie as well as I. You needed my political connections to validate your order.” 

“This conversation is pointless.”

“No, it has a point. You aren’t listening.” Which one of them was the Warden-Commander here, he wondered. “You have enough criminals and bandits in your numbers to fill a prison. You are comprised of Orlesian Wardens and those imported from the Anderfels. I know full well that the reputation of the Wardens in Ferelden was damaged by our exile.” At least it was our now. “Since the return under King Maric, you’ve done well, but no nobles are joining your cause. A noble in the Wardens is a toxic combination in Ferelden, and you dare not conscript there for fear of being run out the country again.” At his protest, she shook her head. “Don’t interrupt me with your glorification of the Grey Warden ideals. What we do is vital to the survival of all in Thedas, and I know damn well the sacrifices that have to be made, but don’t pretend we aren’t also affected by politics. We are. We cannot escape that any more than anyone else. I’m not here because I’m the best swordsman in Ferelden. I’m here because I’m a Teyrn’s daughter. I’m a noble born from the oldest and most powerful noble family in Ferelden short of the Theirins, and don’t insult me by pretending that isn’t the reason.” She shook her head again, her mismatched hair catching the glow of the firelight as she turned away, moving towards their bonfire again.

“I will light your beacon, but nothing will come of it. If you cannot take me at my word, you should never have saved me from Howe’s invasion. I am no use to you if you are dead, Commander.” The title was said gruffly, but he heard the respect in her voice. She was serious. He hurried to walk beside her again, keeping his voice low. 

“Why do you believe that the help will not come?” he asked grimly. If he was going to believe her, he needed a reason.

“Simple,” was her reply. She did not look at him. “It is no longer in the Teyrn’s interest to support the King, and Cailin knows it.” Duncan narrowed his eyes.

“The Teyrn is not about to turn traitor on Cailin. His own daughter is Queen,” he murmured. “Just because they disagree about Orlais does not mean the Teyrn has forsaken his loyalty.” Her remembered the raised voices they had heard from the King’s tent earlier in the day when they had first arrived. An argument over Queen Anora and Empress Celene. But that would not be enough, surely…

“The Teyrn has never been loyal to Cailin. He has been loyal to Maric’s memory, and he has been loyal to his own ideals, first among those the hatred of Orlais. He will align himself where his interests make the most sense,” Eideann said shrewdly, betraying a wealth of political knowledge that he had hardly guessed she possessed. It seemed she had done more than play at swords under Bryce Cousland. “As for his daughter, that influence does not hold the sway over Cailin it once did.” She narrowed her eyes. “They argue over her. We heard them ourselves. We are dangerously close to a political upheaval, Duncan, whether you realize it or not. What happened in Highever may even be the first step in it. What good is Highever to Arl Howe if the King will deliver retribution? Howe was never stupid. But if there was no King to deliver that retribution. If promises were made?” She was working through it as she spoke, he realized, and he was watching the pieces fall together. “Of Cailin’s trusted advisors, only Loghain would have been against an Orlesian alliance. The occupation ended thirty years ago, and Celene is not the warring sort. She seeks peace through alliances. My own mother and father had served as emissaries to Orlais on behalf of the king. Arl Eamon, his uncle, is married to an Orlesian. He is not here, and I do not know why. I sense something here, and it scares me.” She looked to him then, and a flicker of fear was back in her eyes, as if she had uncovered something she should not have too suddenly to come to terms with it. 

“This is a plot of treason,” Duncan hissed, disbelieving. 

“I know. That is why it scares me.”

“They Teyrn will not overthrow the King with everyone watching,” the Warden-Commander insisted. Even if he believed her, which he didn’t, how could such a thing be done? He had to admit her conspiracy theory did account for a lot of the individual pieces, and what was politics if not a chess game involving the lives and deaths of those involved?

“He will not have to, does he?” Eideann said in a chilling voice, her Highever accent quiet. She looked towards the valley where a great host carrying torches wound its way down through the mountains – the force they would soon face. “They shall do it for him. All he needs to do is come too late. Considering he originally planned to have his own men light the beacon, I have little doubt that is exactly the plan. Now that Alistair and I shall light it…well, he can still claim he came too late to save you all in the valley.” Duncan caught her arm.

“Do you realize what you are saying?” Eideann turned to him again.

“Yes. Do you realize what you are hearing? I’m telling you now, please, I beg you Commander, do not go down into that valley. Do not take the King of Ferelden into that valley. Do not expect help from that signal.”

“It is too late. The darkspawn are upon us,” Duncan said darkly. “We must meet them now. If we cannot stop them here, all of Ferelden will be overrun. Surely Loghain will see that the darkspawn threat overshadows his political ambitions.” Eideann shook her head angrily, tearing her arm away.

“Die then. I will end the Blight. You have my word.” And she stalked off to the bonfire before he could say another word.

Angus rose and plodded towards her, the kaddis on his fur pungent even this far away. The great grey beast nuzzled her with its black muzzle and she curled her fingers into his fur absentmindedly, staring at the fire. 

“Trouble?” Alistair asked, looking worried, as Duncan joined them. He had been watching but had been too far away to overhear their heated conversation. Duncan drew close to the fire, shaking his head. The flames did nothing to ward off the chill that had settled over him.

“You and Eideann will be heading to the Tower of Ishal to light the beacon signaling the men to charge,” he said simply, falling into the trap of issuing orders while his thoughts raced. Eideann would not meet his eyes, focusing on her dog. Alistair glowered.

“What? You mean we won’t be in the battle?!” The boy had been kept out of the fighting thus far at Cailin’s request. At first, Duncan had thought it was because Cailin had no desire to see Alistair. But he realized suddenly that this was not the case at all. Cailin and Alistair had crossed paths several times at the camp, and of the two it had been Alistair who found the contact awkward. Cailin was keep Alistair out of the fighting because he was worried. Eideann’s puzzle pieces slipped into place. Cailin had no other heir, and Maric’s only other son was at this battle. Alistair was the heir. It was all a political mess. Even if Eideann did not know it, Cailin had entrusted the only other Teyrnir in Ferelden with the safety of his only heir. Eideann may not know that Alistair was Cailin’s half-brother, but Cailin had clued her in a little back at the old temple, and she was smart enough to realize that Cailin was limiting the liabilities of this battle. A Grey Warden to be the new Commander of the Grey and a Teyrna to face down Loghain – that was how Eideann probably saw the current outcome. But Duncan, knowing what he knew, was aware that Cailin had made a political move there. A Teyrna to match his queen, and a brother to take his throne. Cailin was not thinking of the Wardens and the Blight. He was thinking of Ferelden itself.

Duncan opened his mouth to say something to Eideann, but then thought better of it. It was too late now. His job would be the safeguard the King in the coming battle, and he could only hope that the shrewd Eideann Cousland would be proven wrong in the battle to come. 

“It is at the King’s request,” he said in response to Alistair’s protest, and he had every intention of honoring that request, especially now. Alistair glared.

“Alright, I get it,” he grumbled, and Duncan doubted he did. “But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line.” Eideann Cousland looked up at that, and for the first time since Highever Duncan saw her grin.

“That would be a good distraction,” she laughed. When she smiled, something eased in her, and her fierce gaze shone merrily instead of being hard set and cold. Duncan glanced to Alistair. Something lay between them, a tension that was causing problems. He hoped he would have time to sort through it with them both, but doubted he would get the chance. 

Alistair took her laughter to mean she was a little softer than he had first believed. Uncertainty for Alistair bred humor, his normal way of diffusing the tension, and so he grinned back.

“For you, maybe,” he teased softly. “But it has to be a pretty dress.” Eideann Cousland appeared particularly receptive to that aspect of Alistair’s charm. She smiled again, then her eyes flickered to Duncan and that smile slipped a little.

“How long do we have,” she asked him. Her eyes were hardening again. 

“No more than an hour after I leave to join the others,” he told her. “We will signal you when to light the beacon. Alistair will know what to look for.” She would light it. He had no doubt of that. Whatever she believed would be the outcome, Couslands always did their duty. That beacon would be lit if it killed her to do it. 

She had seemed so young when they had been introduced back at Highever. She had been excited to see him, a little awed at his presence, annoyed she was being left behind to safeguard the castle when her family would be joining the king. When he had suggested making her a Grey Warden to test the waters, a light had lit up in her eyes, a flame of hope and longing.

That flame was cold and determined now, the weight of duty and loss hanging heavy on her. What brightness she had had two weeks ago was now turned to steel. She was no fool, but she seemed in his eyes a thousand years older. She believed Fergus dead, and she had stepped into the role of Teyrna like changing a dress. Of course she had. She had been raised to it. He saw Bryce Cousland in her, but he also saw Eleanor Cousland. And that gave him some hope. 

“I know what I have to do,” she told him, and he realized that she was not talking about the beacon anymore. She was talking about the Blight itself. She would face the Archdemon alone if it came to that. She might think little of him, and she may have managed to rub Alistair the wrong way. She may cling to titles and see political webs everywhere. But in this one thing, Duncan knew, he had picked the perfect recruit. 

The thought chilled him.

“Duncan,” Alistair called to him, the gentle kindness of Maric flowing out of him like a soothing stream. Don’t lose that. You will need every ounce of your gentle nature in the days to come. “May the Maker watch over you.” Duncan clasped his hand. Eideann Cousland would not have to stop a Blight alone. Alistair would do what was right, no matter what. 

“May the Maker watch over us all,” Duncan said firmly. Then he gave a slight bow of head to Eideann before breaking away from them and heading for his rendezvous with the King. 

Cailin was waiting with his guardsmen and the other Grey Wardens at a spiral staircase within one of Ostagar’s crumbling towers. It led down to a door that let out into the valley below. He greeted Duncan with a cooled composure. Duncan felt the ripples of anxiety and excitement from him even then. Surely the King would not act so in the face of an impending betrayal. Maybe Eideann Cousland’s suspicions were wrong after all. 

All the same, he gathered the other Wardens to him.

“There is still no sign of an Archdemon,” he told them, “so protect the King. At all costs.” 

“Commander,” came the deep tones of Grigor, the bushy-bearded Warden from the Anderfels. He stank a little of ale, even on a good day. “How many of the recruits made it?” 

“One,” Duncan told him.

“Which one?” 

“Eideann Cousland,” Duncan told them. A hushed whisper of the name rippled through not only his Wardens but the guardsmen as well. “She and Alistair are about business within the Tower of Ishal and will join us after the battle if all goes well. But we have an important task.” This silenced them all. Duncan looked to Cailin. “If you are ready, Your Majesty?”

The steps opened up to a platform just above the field in the valley below where the preliminary force was gathered to lure the darkspawn. A wind had begun to pick up around them, and rain was ringing like chimes on metal armor. Looking out across the gathered forces, Duncan saw Highever men, banner men from across the Bannorn, and Ferelden’s Denerim forces under the King. But Loghain’s men were not in the group. And that left him feeling disquiet. 

Cailin, it appeared, had done a similar census and looked troubled. Duncan looked to him.

“The plan will work, your Majesty.” He said it to reassure himself as well. It would work. It had to. But now that Eideann Cousland had sown the seeds of doubt within him, he could not unsee the trap she had gleaned from it all. Cailin drew strength from his words, however. 

“Of course it will,” the King said forcefully. “The Blight ends here.” He kept saying that, but there was no Archdemon. There was no end here. 

Cailin walked across the platform and considered his rows of archers and the collection of mabari warhounds from his kennels that would make up the first wave. Chantry priests wandered between them all with a censer of sweet incense, singing the Chant of Light in blessing, but the sound was lost amidst the rain. Overhead, above the mountains beyond the Korcari Wilds, lightning pierced the sky. 

There were lights in the woods now, the trail of a thousand burning torches winding down from the hills to the south. The darkspawn were here. 

Beside him, Duncan noticed Grigor drawing his might battleaxe, and one of the others knocked an arrow. 

They emerged from the trees like ghouls, appearing to fade into existence from the darkness. Metal embedded in grey flesh, rotted from the taint that coursed in their blood, armor of corroded iron mined from ancient dwarven thaigs. Their emissaries wielded toxic magics. And among them were ogres, frightful giant creatures with twisting horns and dark, beady eyes that roared and ploughed through the ranks like wild bulls enraged. 

And the shrieking began then, horrible twisted sounds that cut through the night and made hair stand on end. Cailin drew up, unsheathing his sword.

“Archers!” he cried. Above, the ballistas were loaded with fire and stone. The collective sound of bowstrings drawing was like an intake of breath.

Then it began. The darkspawn charged, The archers released their arrows, which sang through the smoky night into the oncoming ranks. 

“Hounds!” The mabari raced into the fray, taking down darkspawn with wicked, vicelike jaws. But many more fell.

“Soldiers!” Cailin called. “For Ferelden!” And they charged. 

The first wave dropped dead. Duncan stayed close to Cailin. Fire exploded, mages’ magic tearing through the ranks as the Circle combatted the emissaries blow for blow. Ogres were hurling giant boulders at the Ostagar bridge, which scattered the soldiers above like bowling skittles and shattered the Tevinter statue that overlooked the valley. Cailin dove into the fray, leaping from the wooden platform onto the horde. Duncan followed. 

Above them on the platform, Grigor gave the signal. 

Light the beacon, Duncan prayed. Please don’t be too long.

***

Eideann felt the violent smash of the boulder tearing through the ballista and throwing a handful of men from the bridge. She ducked, avoiding the splintered remains as they flew across her path, and yanked Angus down beside her.

The driving rain was making it hard to see, and the torchlights flickered and danced, emitted smoke that blanketed the ruin. The torches in the valley threatened to set the whole of the Wilds ablaze. 

A great boulder sailed across the sky and toppled a tower on the far side of the ruin. All about her, men were dying. It was worse than Highever by a hundred-fold. 

“We have to cross the bridge!” Alistair was screaming at her. He was at her side, ushering her up, and she followed. Together they made the other side of the bridge under the cover of archers raining flaming arrows down on the horde below. Still the darkspawn came. The mabari of the Ash Warriors were howling in the melee below, but there were too few of them, and too many monsters. 

The other side of the bridge was too quiet. The terrace which led up to the massive Tower of Ishal was empty, even of Loghain’s men, and Eideann felt her heart sink. Two men came running, a crossbowman and a Circle mage.

“They’re everywhere!” the mage shouted. Eideann reached out to stop them.

“You…you’re Grey Wardens,” the soldier said quickly, recognition dawning, hope lighting in his eyes. “The Tower! It’s been taken!” 

“Taken?” Alistair demanded. “Taken how?” For once he sounded in control, and Eideann was thankful, reassessing her opinion of him a little. 

“The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers,” the soldier reported, sensing also that this was a superior. “Most of our men are dead.” Eideann was filled with a sense of dread. 

“Then we must get to the beacon,” Alistair said, “and light it ourselves.” It took a little to convince the other two to join them, but before long the Circle mage and the crossbowman were in tow. Eideann drew her swords and began up the steps, settling into the cold stillness of her training. 

The darkspawn were already spilling into the courtyard, battling the men of the King’s army. Alistair was at her side, his shield with the Grey Warden sigil in his hand. Together they formed the front line, breaking through the darkspawn host and pushing towards the Tower. 

Rain battered their faces, and a howling wind was ripping through the ruins. The storm raged, and down in the valley the warhorns were blowing, signaling for the beacon. Begging for help. 

Eideann felt her blade slip through a Hurlock, darkspawn beasts larger than a man in corroded iron armor. She swung about and took another’s head off before the others could react. Alistair charged beside her, blocking a blow, and it turned out that when they were not fighting one another they made a fairly good team. 

The bodies of men and darkspawn littered the interior of the Tower. The darkspawn had taken advantage of the erected defenses, meaning Eideann and Alistair and their small party were now forced to battle through their own lines. Hurlock archers were waiting, with a stumpy little emissary that wielded darkspawn blood magic. Eideann went immediately for the archers, while Alistair veered off after the emissary.

She felt a shudder of energy, something that hit the floor like the weight of bathwater being emptied, and the emissary screamed. Alistair silenced it with his blade. 

“What was that?” Eideann demanded when the darkspawn were dead.

“Smite,” Alistair said grimly. Appaently that Templar training had been worth something. Eideann smiled a little, but it was the mirthless sort of smile of battlefields and difficult situations. 

“Smite away,” she suggested, and began their ascent. 

In one of the rooms, a gaping hole opened into tunnels below. The floor tiles lay about in piles, and it was obvious that this was how the darkspawn had gotten in. Somewhere, at the other end, this opened up to the horde. Eideann stared a long time at the piles of floor tiles, then tore herself away, feeling unsettled. There would be time to think later.

The second floor was even worse. Alistair grimaced, shaking his head as he surveyed the darkspawn totems – twisted masses of bodies and flesh that were charred and skewered into grotesque shapes. 

“Maker’s breath!” he cursed. “What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde?! There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!” There were too many darkspawn for this to simply be a small party. The whole thing stank of advance planning. Eideann grimaced, and countered with humor, because it was a language she had learned they both spoke. She determined to treat Alistair as she would treat Fergus were he here. He seemed responsive to that. 

“You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place,” she suggested glibly. Alistair looked a little taken aback that she was playing his game, but grinned. 

“Right, because clearly this is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll laugh about this later.” His smile faded. “In any case we need to hurry. Teryn Loghain will be waiting for the signal.” Eideann only hoped that was true. 

The halls were filled with fire here and felled bodies of the soldiers that had manned the tower. Eideann felt sick seeing it, but pressed on. Later. There was always later. She could deal with grief later. She could deal with discomfort later. She could feel sick later. She could cry and scream and find vengeance for what had been done later. For now, the beacon was all that she needed to think of.

Each room brought more darkspawn as they climbed. There was a small mercy when they found a kennel with a handful of mabari still alive. Angus made their enemy clear, if that was in any doubt, and the moment Eideann released the mechanism on the cages, they were tearing at the genlocks that occupied the room. Angus was valiant and fierce, but five Anguses were better. 

On the third floor enough was enough. Eideann was convinced of foul play. 

“Loghain had better be ready to charge,” Alistair said darkly, but they all knew what they were all really thinking. 

Tevinter ruins had always disturbed Eidean. The tower was like a nightmare then, twisting and turning and full of horrible things. It seemed that none inside had stood a chance. There was no one left alive. The roars and grunts of darkspawn echoed through the dark and bloodied halls as they approached the final staircase. 

Whatever they had expected to find at the top, it was not an ogre. The giant creature had mottled grey flesh and wicked ram horns. It was crouching over the fallen men assigned to light the beacon. Blood splattered its flesh, and it snarled as it crunched through the bones of the fallen soldiers. Then it sensed them at the top of the steps, and it rose to its full height and gave a horrific roar, spraying them with spittle and stench. 

And then it charged. 

It went for Alistair first, attracted to the shield perhaps. Eideann circled around the back with Angus to attack its flank, but it kicked her aside and turned on her then.

It took every bit of blade-skill she had to hack and slash and dance out of its way. Its fists missed her and slammed into the floor instead, shattering the flagstones and shaking everyone to core. For a moment they were all off balance. But the moment had provided an opportunity. Alistair attacked the creature from behind as it lowered its head to charge again. His shield rammed it off balance, and it toppled about trying to regain its footing. He leapt up, knocking it over, and thrusting his sword deep into its heart as it toppled. Then, for good measure, he ripped his sword free and jammed it through the creature’s eye into its skull. He was spilled to the floor then, catching himself in an odd sort of roll and regaining his feet, panting. 

Eideann stared at him, and he looked back. For a moment, neither breathed. And then, in a daze, he pointed.

“The beacon,” he said. “We’ve missed the signal. We need to light it quickly.” Eideann ran to the fire burning away on the flagstones, hurling a flaming log at the fireplace filled with explosive powder that would serve as the beacon. It lit, and they all ducked, and Eideann let out a single breath before realizing that it was still too late. Relief was short-lived then. 

“Alistair,” she said slowly, meaning to tell him what would happen, to lay out the next part of the plan. But she did not get the chance.

The chamber door burst open, the darkspawn poured into the room, and Eideann whirled about. It was too late. The jolt of an arrow piercing through her. She froze then another flash of pain hit her, knocking her from her feet, and a third. She fell, feeling the pain overwhelm her, feeling a cold sensation spreading through her, liquid filling her chainmail and spilling over her breast. She heard the grunts of darkspawn, Angus’s sharp whine of pain, and then everything went black. 

***

The darkspawn did not stop coming. Duncan felt the burning of tainted blood as it splattered against his flesh and knew many would die of the taint this night if nothing else. He prayed again to the Maker that Loghain would send his reinforcements.

Cailin and his guard were at the center, and Duncan rallied his Grey Wardens to the King’s side, cursing them all for being so foolish as to the let the King fight here. Eideann had been right about trying to keep him out. With Cailin to watch, Duncan’s men were inhibited. Instead of performing at their optimal capacity and dealing death to the darkspawn, they were wheeling about, defending the King as best they could, and they were no guards. 

He could sense the thousands-strong horde, but no Archdemon, and as of yet not even any strong general. Perhaps they may yet succeed? They had only to last until the reinforcements came.

And then he heard it: a rippling soft song in his head. It was like a whisper, words he could almost understand, and his blood ran cold. The Archdemon was calling to the horde. A giant roar snapped him back to reality.

An ogre charged, and Duncan was thrown aside by the ogre’s flailing arms. He watched, gasping for air through broken ribs as the ogre grasped Cailin, far from the mindless beast it had seemed to be. The ogre had been aiming for Cailin. How could it have known? Had Duncan’s own thoughts given it away to the Archdemon?

The ogre let out a roar into Cailin’s face even as the king struggled to free himself. For a moment time stood still.

And then he snapped the king’s spine in a single fist and cast him aside, a limp doll on the field, broken and discarded. Cailin was dead before he hit the ground.

Duncan’s Wardens were failing. The darkspawn still came ever stronger. The army was in ruins, some already fleeing with the death of their king, and all of the King’s guard were dead about him. Duncan drew his second blade and forced himself to rise and charge.

Steel sank into the grey flesh of the ogre, over and over, as fury overtook him. In seeing Cailin dead, Duncan remembered his promise to Maric long ago: protect his sons. The ogre let out a final road and fell, transfixed, a pool of darkspawn blood rotting into the earth about it. Duncan, arm gripped tightly to the shooting pain in his chest, staggered to Cailin and fell to his knees, pain causing tears to blossom in his eyes.

The sickly sweet song of the Archdemon echoed in his head. He forced it away and looked instead towards the ruins, seeking solace, seeking a chance. There, high above, the beacon glowed, lit by Eideann Cousland and Alistair Theirin, that final hope that glowed in the darkness amidst the dimly veiled stars and the smoky ruins. 

Eideann had been right. There was no help coming, no reinforcements, no charge. Duncan looked back to the darkspawn horde still pouring onto the battlefield and swarming over the remains of the royal army. 

And then the darkspawn battleaxe of a Hurlock Alpha took off his head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens arrive in Lothering and begin to gather their party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence

The buzzing of insects was too loud. Everything was too loud. Surely in the aftermath of such a battle, such a low, the world should be silent in grief.

The morning air of the swamp was cold, and his breath misted as he stared out across the patchy bogs into the mists of the Korcari Wilds. He had awoken two days before in the little hut nestled deep in the marshes where the two apostate witches lived, Morrigan and her odd mother. He had been told fairly quickly that Loghain had never responded to their beacon. The darkspawn had killed anyone left in the valley below, and survivors had either scattered to the winds or been dragged into the Wilds screaming to be devoured or tainted into ghouls. Duncan and the other Grey Wardens were dead, their bodies missing. Cailin was dead too. And Loghain had retreated to the north, leaving them alone.

Eideann was alive, but barely. Morrigan’s mother had some strange magic arts that had saved their lives and healed their wounds, but Eideann still slept in the fitful dreams of the injured. Her hound was alive too, Angus she called him, and the dog had been his sole source of comfort sitting beside him even now, nuzzling his arm as if to console him of his loss.

But it was too great to be consoled, and with Eideann’s life still in the balance, Alistair felt desperately and hopelessly lost and alone.

“See,” came the tones of the old woman who had emerged from the hut to gather marshwood from the side of her house for a fire. “Here is your fellow Grey Warden.” Alistair looked back to see Eideann, her eyes hollow and haunted, watching him carefully from near the door. She moved silently towards him in the dim morning light, hazy from the mists of the Wilds. Her silver chain was dented and rusted, and it had a few gapes where the thick darkspawn bolts had torn through metal and chain to reach her chest. It was all they had, however, and she wore it like she was ready for war again regardless.

“You,” Alistair said then, hearing the strain of days of silence heavy in his aching voice. “You’re alive.” A little of the light rekindled in her and she nodded.

“Yes, thanks to Morrigan’s mother.”

“This doesn’t seem real,” Alistair breathed, looking back towards the marshes. “If it wasn’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d both be dead on that tower too.”

“Do not talk about me as if I am not here, lad,” the old woman said sharply. He looked back.

“Well what do we call you?” he asked. “You’ve never told us your name.” She waved a hand at him like she were batting away the question.

“Names are pretty but useless,” she informed him. “The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. It will do.”

“The Flemeth? From the legends?” Alistair despaired. “Daveth was right, wasn’t he? You’re the Witch of the Wilds.” Eideann put a gentle hand on his arm then, quieting him. She was standing beside him, closer than perhaps necessary, staring out across the damp, cold lands. A frog was croaking nearby, as if to remind them that out there in the mists life was still happening.

Their first trek into the Korcari Wilds had shown Alistair a lot of what he needed to know about Eideann, or so he believed. He had witnessed her ability to drive a group towards a goal, but he had also seen her cruelty, and her aloof nature. He had written her off as a noble that would always see that part of people. While she fought well – she moved like she were dancing, quick as wildfire and deadly as a knife in the dark – he had seen the years of practice in her steps.

She had hardly spoken of herself really. When she had gone to Cailin’s council, he had had time to think, to wonder why she would be specifically called to attend his brother. All the other Grey Wardens had been left behind aside from Duncan. Did she know Cailin in some way?

She had a determination to fight and some practical good sense that had helped them climb the Tower of Ishal. She also had a sense of humor that was slowly surfacing, and he did not know what to make of that. She unexpectedly broke her fierce composure and showed a softer nature beneath in those moment, and he would be lying to say he did not like that softer side better. All Alistair knew was that he was suddenly the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden aside from her, and he knew next to nothing about her, aside from that she was a noble and had a brother called Fergus. He did not even know her full name. Eideann was all she had told him before.

He thought for a moment about the treaties that were still tucked away on her person. These witches had taken them, and their appearance at the old watchtower ruin had been uncomfortable at best. Alistair could feel the tickle of his Templar training wherever they were. His Chantry training made him very touchy in regards to apostates, and as a Templar he had no love of magic in general. He had been glad to be rid of Morrigan and her mother back then. Now he owed them his life.

He was uncomfortable again, especially if this old woman really was the Flemeth of legends. Here he was surrounded by three strange woman, all of which seemed to dislike him in one way or another, and a Blight was looming on the horizon.

Alistair thought back to the Tower of Ishal again, and all the darkspawn on every floor. The sheer quantity had been staggering. How had so many gotten in so quickly? He could not comprehend it. And why had Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir turned away the army when he has seen the signal, as the witches claimed he had? Nothing about it made sense.

“He is a traitor,” came the gentle tones in the Highever lilt beside him. Alistair glanced to Eideann who had turned to consider him. “Loghain planned this. Those flagstones in the tower…they were pried inward, stacked up. The tunnel didn’t collapse in. It was dug after they pulled up the floor.” Alistair felt a chill settle over him.

“Are you saying – ?”

“Loghain left the King and Duncan and the others to die, but he did do so because of a tactical decision. He had decided to do so from the start.”

“Why would Loghain do this?!” Alistair demanded, anger causing him to raise his voice.

“That is a good question.” The old witch, Flemeth, was standing not far away now, watching them with her arms crossed. Her grey hair was damp and lank. Her eyes were an odd shade of yellow. “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he thinks the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat.”

“The Archdemon,” Alistair said quietly. Eideann was silent a moment, then she raised her chin a little.

“Then we need to find this Archdemon,” she said simply, as though deciding what to have for lunch. Alistair stared.

“By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without an army of nations at his back!” The defeat in his own voice pained him, but he was afraid, and he knew it. How could the two of them find and reach and Archdemon? Eideann herself had been a Grey Warden a few days and most, and had spent most of them asleep in recovery. He had only been one for half a year. The sensing had only just started coming to him two months back. He met her eyes, deciding to be honest, since that honesty seemed to work well with her. “And I don’t know how.”

“How to kill an Archdemon? Or how to raise an army?” Flemeth said flatly. “It seems to me those are two different questions. Have the Grey Wardens no allies these days?” Alistair sighed.

“I don’t know. Duncan said the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely.” Arl Eamon was Cailin’s uncle, and he had raised Alistair until the age of ten. But aside from Redcliffe, he could think of nowhere else to turn.

“Arl Eamon?” Eideann said softly. “The Arl of Redcliffe? We could go to him then.” Alistair looked at her, seeing the strength that was radiating from her even now, and drew a deep breath.

“He’s a good man, and respected in the Landsmeet. We can go to him and appeal to him for help,” he said. And if they could reach her own people…

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Eideann stated decisively, as though it had been added to her list of things-to-do. Flemeth barked a laugh.

“Such determination,” she declared. “How intriguing.” As though it were all a game she were playing to make them catch up to her. Alistair narrowed his eyes at the witch a moment, then looked to Eideann. Surely she had some access to military forces herself? Surely she had some political sway, to be able to meet with the king?

“I still don’t know if Arl Eamon’s help will be enough,” he told her. “He can’t defeat the darkspawn horde by himself.” He hoped she understood what he meant.

“We’ll find a way,” Eideann assured him. “It’s up to us, after all.” She reached to draw the tattered treaty scrolls from under her armor. They were battered by the battle and smeared with blood, and one bore a puncture hole he was sure came from the bolts that had pierced through her breast. She considered them. “The Grey Wardens can demand aid from mages, dwarves, and elves in case of a Blight.”

“I might be old,” Flemeth said pointedly, “but mages, dwarves, elves, this Arl Eamon, and whoever else sounds like an army to me.” Alistair ignored her, instead focusing on Eideann. The woman was like a beacon of confidence. He wondered for a moment if it was not something they drilled into all noble children over the years.

“So can we do this then? Gather an army and defeat the Blight?” Eideann quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, I hardly think it will be that simple,” she replied, but she quirked a small smile at him that told him she was on board with the plan.

“So you are set then?” Flemeth asked. “Ready to be Grey Wardens?” They had been sitting about or sleeping in her hut for days on end, moping in his case.

“I’d be happy with just staying alive,” Eideann said frankly. Alistair smirked.

“That would be nice, come to think of it.” He felt comfortable in the banter between them and had no intention of cutting it short. She seemed eager to use it as a bridge between them, and an escape from the horribly things that had happened behind them. Duncan had certainly found a strange noble.

Flemeth snorted.

“Well don’t expect me to do everything,” she said. “There is, however, one more thing I can offer you.”

The hut door swung open with a creak and Morrigan came to join them. Her dark hair was caught in a messy bun at the back of her head, and her yellow eyes were sharp like a cat's. She glanced to Flemeth.

“The stew is bubbling, Mother. Shall we have two guests for the eve, or none?” Flemeth fixed her with a look.

“The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl, and you will be going with them.”

“Such a shame…what?!” Morrigan’s eyes narrowed. Alistair felt the same sudden shock.

“You heard me,” Flemeth said sharply.

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Eideann said beside him, prompting Alistair to stare at her instead with wide eyes. They could not be serious, could they?

“Have I no say in this?” Morrigan demanded in outrage. Alistair had not thought it possible to agree with the witch on anything.

“You’ve been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance,” Flemeth replied. “As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives.” Eideann nodded. Alistair shook his head.

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” he said sharply, “but won’t this add to our problems? Outside the Wilds, she’s an apostate.” Eideann looked sidelong at him. Flemeth quirked an eyebrow.

“If you did not wish the help of us illegal mages, lad, perhaps I should have just left you up on that tower?” Alistair sighed, wilting a little under the gazes of all three women.

“Point taken.” Mages were useful, but he was not making excuses by bringing up their status as apostates. It would be hard enough to garner support without brazenly flaunting the Chantry.

“Mother,” Morrigan said coolly. “This is not how I wanted this. I’m not even ready.” Flemeth turned her sharp gaze on her daughter.

“You must be ready, Morrigan. Alone, these two must unite the lands and defeat the Blight. Without you, they will fail, and all shall fall under the Blight, even I.” Morrigan stared a moment, then relented.

“I…understand.” Flemeth looked to Alistair and Eideann then.

“And you, Wardens? Do you understand?” she asked them. “I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed.” Alistair opened his mouth, but before he could speak Eideann cut him off.

“She won’t come to harm with us.” Alistair glared darkly at the back of the noblewoman’s head. She was starting to be bossy again.

“Very well,” Morrigan sighed. “Let me get my things, if you please.” And she turned away, stalking back into the hut.

Alistair looked to Eideann, but she said nothing, instead drawing away from the stagnant bog and examining the punctures in her armor. Alistair grimaced, but kept his mouth shut. There would be time enough to argue. Right now, he was just glad she was still alive, as annoying as she may be.

Morrigan returned with a leather pack slung over one shoulder, her mage’s staff strapped to her back. She considered them, then sighed.

“I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village just north of the Wilds as our first destination. ‘Tis not far, and you will find much you need there.” She was looking at their tattered armor. “Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours.” Eideann smiled slightly.

“No, I prefer you speak your mind.” Flemeth guffawed.

“You will regret saying that,” she warned wryly.

“Dear, sweet Mother, you are so kind to cast me out like this,” Morrigan said in a sickly sweet voice. “How fondly I shall remember this moment.”

“Well,” Flemeth said, unfazed, “as I always said, if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade afterwards.” Alistair watched them all with a growing sense of unease. He finally glanced to Eideann.

“I just…” he began, then shook his head. “Do you really want to take her along just because her mother says so?” Eideann gave him a fixed look.

“We need all the help we can get,” she told him firmly. He relented. He hated arguing.

“I guess you’re right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they can find them.” Morrigan gave him a dark look.

“I am so pleased to have your approval.” Eideann looked between them, then pushed through towards the only dry trail away from the house.

“Let’s just get underway,” she said simply. Angus trotted along to join her at her heels.

“Do try to have fun, dear,” Flemeth called after Morrigan as they took off into the woods. Alistair knew already he was going to regret the whole damn thing. He thought again at how relieved he had felt that Eideann was alive, how approachable she had been before she began the business of making all the decisions again, and then banished the thoughts from his mind. Duncan was gone, the Blight was still a threat, and he had no one else on his side.

***

He dreamt of Ostagar again, of the blood and the screaming. He dreamt of running, Lady at his heels, as the darkspawn swarmed the ruins and overtook the ranks.

He sat up in sharp alarm, panting in the dim light, and caught eyes the color of chocolate watching him. Bethany. She reached for his shoulder, but he flinched, drawing away, and she hesitated. He did not want to trouble her with this.

“You were talking in your sleep again,” she told him quietly, rising and crossing her arms about herself. “I’m worried about you, Carver.”

“Don’t,” he said gruffly, pushing himself out of bed and covering his eyes a moment to draw in a deep breath. Then he crossed to their bedside table to enact the same thing he had done every day since arriving home to Lothering. He shoved more of his belongings into a thick leather bag that had belonged to their father.

Bethany watched him a moment, then licked her lips.

“How long do you think we have?” she asked.

“Not long.” It was a ritual now, between them. Every day the same question. Every day the same answer. “Be ready to go.”

A little light streamed through the closed shutters. Their mother was keeping them shut to ward off refugees, and to keep the Templars out of their hair. With Bethany and Sidonie in the house, there was always danger.

Not that Sidonie seemed to care. She traipsed about the town with her staff like always, and flaunted herself before the Templars like she was daring them to catch her. They never did. They did not see a mage when they looked at his sister. They saw a halberd-wielding young woman who spent too much time in the tavern and wandering about town at all hours.

Bethany was better behaved, always cautious. Her staff, Birchcore, lay under her bed across the room from Carver’s things. She kept out of sight and out of trouble, visiting the Chantry once a week to pray to the Maker they stay safe.

Carver sat down on his bed and hauled on his boots.

“Where are you going?” Bethany asked, worried. He shook his head.

“I need a drink.”

“Carver…” He brushed his twin aside.

“I need a drink.”

Since the nightmare that had been Ostagar, all he wanted to do was drink and sleep. If he thought too much about it, he’d be frozen in fear. They needed to run, but their mother Leandra refused to go while there were still people who needed help. She insisted on staying, certain they had time. No amount of pushing would help.

Bethany let him go, feeling his pain through the bond between twins and saying nothing. In the kitchen, Lady looked up, her big brown eyes watching him. She had been there with him at Ostagar, and he was keeping a close watch on her. Many of the dogs had fallen to the darkspawn taint from that battle.

Lady seemed fine though. She just lowered her head as he crossed the small room and wrenched open the door, picking up his greatsword as he stepped out.

Lothering was overcrowded. Refugees had been flooding northward since the army had marched south, some of them the wilder folk and the Chasind. When Teyrn Loghain had moved through in retreat, he had taken the Bann’s men with him, leaving the village alone and without defenses save the Chantry’s Templars, which were out in force. Even they could not stop all the bandits, all the thieves.

Carver skirted the town well, busy with people hauling water for the emergency shelters and the shanty town to the south. He pushed his way through the filthy slew of people fleeing the darkspawn and crossed instead towards the Dane’s Refuge, a neat little inn that served as the central gathering point this side of the creek. The innkeeper there was a man called Danal who had been a close friend of Malcolm Hawke before his untimely death. Danal gave Carver free drinks sometimes out of respect for that friendship.

Carver did not look much like his father. He had the height and black hair, but his eyes were the soft blue of the Amells, his mother’s family. Bethany had Malcolm’s brown eyes, but even she looked more like their mother. The one who really took after Malcolm, in all his apostate glory, was Sidonie.

Carver had hoped she was somewhere else. He had no such luck. He leaned at the counter and immediately felt the clap of a hand on his shoulder. Sidonie was beside him, clad in Ferelden leather armor, her staff at her back. The damn thing was a halberd really, with spear-points on both ends. And she was good with it. It annoyed him that she could still sometimes beat him in a fight without magic. Of course she could. Sidonie had to be the best at everything.

He shrugged her hand off and looked away.

“Oh, Carver,” she said simply, leaning back against the bar as she surveyed the room. “Do get out of your own ass and tell me what the matter is now.”

“What is the matter?! There are darkspawn coming and no one’s moving! We should be gone!” he hissed. Danal brought him an ale, which Sidonie promptly took a sip off before turning back over to him. Carver glared.

“I agree,” she said simply. “But you know Mother wants to help as many people as she possibly can.”

“You have to convince her. She won’t listen to me.”

“She won’t listen to me either,” Sidonie stated simply. “Peaches was looking for you.” Peaches. She sometimes worked for Danal bussing tables, but mostly she was eternally disappearing into stables and behind houses for quick tumbles with almost anyone who was interested. Carver had had a few exchanges with her in the past, which Sidonie found good fodder to tease him with. Recently, though, he had hardly spoken to the girl.

Sidonie was watching him with their father’s eyes. Where Bethany’s were a warm chocolate, Sidonie’s were the deep oxblood color he remembered on Malcolm Hawke. They were narrowed a little, as if reading him. He turned away.

“Stop staring at me.”

“You’re scared.” It was a statement, not a question. And there was no way he would own up to it.

“You weren’t there,” was all he could manage to say. She had not seen the horrific monsters that were descending upon Lothering. She had not witnessed them snapping the King in half like a twig. She had not seen the Grey Wardens fall. She had not staggered half-blind with fear through the treacherous swamps as other fleeing men were swallowed up by the Wilds. What did Sidonie know of fear? She never displayed fear in her life.

“We will leave before they arrive,” she told him simply. “I hardly think it would be sensible to invite them in for tea, after all. Even mother will see that.” She turned to face the bar, picking at the wood with one hand. “But where will we go, Carver? There’s nowhere to go.”

“I’m sick of running!” he grumbled, downing the drink she had sampled before him. The liquid made his head swim a little, and he did not know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “I’m sick of always running.” Sidonie said nothing at that, instead pushing off the bar and patting him on the shoulder. Then she turned away and left him to his thoughts. Because the world always worked out for Sidonie. Everything always went her way. Carver sniffed and stared at the empty tankard a moment. Behind him, there was a riot of laughter and Sidonie’s voice. She had gone back to entertaining the crowds. A ripple of anger shot through Carver, and he pushed away from the bar. It was too early to drink anyway.

Lothering was too crowded. All the places he would usually go to think were missing. The Templars were too busy to spar, which left him restless. They should be gone. He knew that more than anything.

When he returned home, Bethany was gone, and Lady gone with her. He was left to his thoughts, horrible as they were. He sat at the kitchen table and stared at the wood a moment, trying to work out what Malcolm Hawke would do if he were still alive.

And then he realized it for a fruitless endeavor. Malcolm would be at the Dane’s Refuge, drinking and laughing. Malcolm would be Sidonie. And there was not enough room for the both of them.

***

Lothering was the sort of village that could burn to dust and no one would really miss it, which was exactly what was probably going to happen since it was in the path of a Blight spreading northwards. Morrigan had only been there a few times in her life, out of curiosity, not necessity. The Chantry there was an uncomfortable sore that stuck out of the landscape, demanding penitence and respect it had never earned. The foolish Templars were mostly useless, unable to catch her. In fact, she rather doubted she was the only apostate lingering around near Lothering, for the Wilds were easily accessible, and the farmholds nearby were generally left alone by religious zealots.

The Grey Wardens, she decided warily, were an odd sort. The man, Alistair he was called, was suspicious of her. His one-track mind was Chantry brainwashed, and he was too hung up on the honor and dignity of the Grey Wardens to see the darkness of the task that lay ahead of him, or even the darkness within his own companions. Goodness only knew Morrigan was no angel, and that other girl…

The world for Alistair seemed black and white, with ironically very little grey. He had his precious code of conduct and his limited worldview and that, it seemed, was that.

The woman was different. Eideann, she was called. She moved with a dangerous sort of grace. At their first meeting, she had been coolly sensible, asking to speak with Flemeth about the scrolls with a cool reserve and a simple manner. She was practical, and apparently in control. And her eyes, as unsettling as they were, were fierce all the time.

At first, the determination she exhibited had been offputting. Morrigan was still unsure what she thought of the woman. But one thing was certain: she had only briefly met the woman twice, and already Eideann had earned a small amount of respect from her. Eideann, it appeared, was the sort of woman who could either lead you forever or challenge you on the spot. She either had a use for you or she did not.

Morrigan could not read her, and that was unsettling. Something dark hung over her, and had done since they had met, before her mother had plucked them from the smoldering tower at Ostagar and saved their lives. Her mind was always focused on something, though she rarely spoke her thoughts aloud, and she seemed to be uncertain how to handle Alistair.

There was something between them: an uneasy sort of truce perhaps? He seemed wary of her, and often annoyed for no apparent reason. She just seemed confused by him, as though she were always expecting a different result. Clearly they had not known one another long. Morrigan wondered if these two were even capable of stopping a Blight if they could hardly speak to one another.

The imperial highway ran north from Ostagar into Lothering, but it was littered with bodies of the fallen, refuse tossed aside as people fled, and bandits waiting for more victims.

“They are fools to get in our way,” Morrigan told the others darkly when they confronted a group just outside Lothering. For once, Alistair seemed to agree with her. Eideann stepped up and greeted them.

“Ten silvers toll,” the bandit at the front chirped merrily. Morrigan felt her fingers itch with a need to use magic.

“We’re not refugees,” Eideann said with a disarming smile.

“They don’t look like the others,” another bandit said slowly, his voice thick and tedious. “Maybe we should just let these ones go.”

“No one passes without paying. That’s why it’s a toll and not, say, a refugee tax,” the bandit leader explained calmly, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. Morrigan narrowed her eyes.

“We’re not paying,” Eideann said simply, never losing her false smile.

“Right then. We get to loot your corpses then. That’s the rules.”

“Do you really want to mess with Grey Wardens?” Eideann asked quietly. The second bandit hesitated.

“Grey Wardens? Them ones that killed the king?” Something flashed in Eideann’s eyes that made Morrigan feel wary.

“The bounty on their heads is enormous,” the bandit leader said, as if mulling it over.

“But aren’t they meant to be good. Like, really good?” the thick-voiced bandit drawled. Eideann looked between them.

“You know,” she said simply, “the Grey Wardens could use a donation.” Both the bandits looked at her.

“You don’t say…” the bandit leader said flatly. But he sighed, putting his hand into his pocket and pulling out twenty silvers.” Fine. This is everything we have collected today.”

“Good,” Eideann said, taking his money. Morrigan watched the exchange with a tickle of amusement. How easily she had done it. Alistair seemed a little perplexed at how she had managed it so easily. “Now, I’m turning you into the authorities.”

“But there are no authorities! There’s only the Templars, and they’ll just execute us.” Eideann’s eyes were like flint now, but her smile never vanished.

“Ah, I see.” She motioned to Morrigan and Alistair. That filthy hound of hers, Angus or whatever she called it, gave a sharp growl. “Well, then we shall save them the trouble.” One of her swords rang free of its sheath and came up to rest against the bandit leader’s throat.

“Wait, wait! Stop! We surrender!” the bandit leader cried, putting his arms up and trying to hide behind his own men. “We’re just trying to get by!” Eideann’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head slightly. Her smile was gone now.

“Get by? You’re a criminal.”

“Yes, I am. And I’m sorry.” Morrigan gave him points for trying, but such tactics were not going to work on Eideann, she knew that much already.

“Hand over everything you have stolen,” Eideann stated flatly. “Everything.” The bandit hurried to untie a pouch from his belt and then threw it to her.

“Here. Here it is. Just over 100 silvers!” Eideann caught it with her free left hand, her blade never moving from his neck. The bandit grimaced. “Please let us go.”

“Start running,” Eideann said in a voice laced in ice. “And do not come back.” The bandit backed away as she lowered her sword, then gathered his remaining men and took off south along the imperial highway, probably right into the darkspawn.

Eideann hefted the purse, then tucked it away and sighed.

“Highwaymen,” she breathed. “Where is the Bann and his men. The Templars shouldn’t be the only ones left to guard the village.” There were no answers to be had, so they continued down into the small shanty town of tents that graced the southern end of the village. Alistair was silent as they moved through the tents. Morrigan considered him.

“I have a wonder, Alistair, if you will indulge me,” she said softly. He looked at her suspiciously.

“Do I have a choice?” Morrigan ignored his bitter attitude and focused on the tents about them.

“Of the two of you that remain, are you not the senior Grey Warden here? I find it curious that you allow another to lead while you follow.” He bristled. She could almost feel it.

“You find that curious, do you?” he said distastefully. Morrigan looked ahead and saw that Eideann was listening in silence. Clearly she was not the only one with this question. Interesting.

“In fact,” she pushed, “you defer to a new recruit. Is this a policy of the Grey Wardens? Or simply a personal one?”

“What do you want to hear?” Alistair demanded in a low voice, “that I prefer to follow? I do.” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You sound so very defensive.” He knew it too. She decided it was actually quite fun to wind him up. It saved him being a surly so and so who was determined to hate her regardless.

“Couldn’t you crawl into a bush somewhere and die? That would be great, thanks,” he spat with venom she did not realize he had in him. She simply smiled.

Eideann had turned and was watching them now with a flat look. Morrigan stopped short when she saw the woman watching. Alistair looked sheepish.

“Are you two quite finished?”

“She – “ Alistair began, but Eideann held up a hand.

“I don’t care what she did, or what you did. Just stop. And why am I leading anyway?” Alistair looked taken aback.

“I…well, I don’t know what to do. I’ll leave it up to you,” he finally said. “I still think Arl Eamon is our best bet for help, but I don’t know.”

“How do you know Arl Eamon?” she demanded suddenly.

“He…he raised me,” Alistair admitted. Morrigan looked to him, interested again.

“And why would – ?” she began before she was silenced by Eideann. A ripple of irritation went through her.

“He raised you,” she said simply. “Why?”

“Because…well…because he did. Why does it matter?” The Templar was flustered. Eideann was looking at him with an odd way.

“Cailin told me to protect you,” she said simply. “You were raised by the Arl. Duncan kept you out of the fighting, so you were untried when you went into the Wilds with us the first time. You’re capable enough but it was all learned at the Chantry. And the King himself wanted to protect you.” She was working something over in her head. Then she spun about on her heel and stalked off. Alistair stared after her, then hurried to catch up.

“Wait! Wait a moment!”

“Why?” Eideann said fiercely over her shoulder. “Is the Blight taking a rest while we stand here? We don’t have time!”

“Where are we going?” Morrigan asked simply, at least intending to know the direction.

“The tavern.”

“The - ? There is no time for drinking either,” Morrigan stated. Eideann shook her head ahead of them.

“Not drinking. Information.”

The Dane’s Refuge was so full they had to force their way through to the bar. It cleared out a little at the sight of Alistair’s armor, still the blue and silver Grey Warden gear, and obviously a sign for trouble. Morrigan caught sight of an odd woman with a halberd on her back watching them curiously from the end of the bar, but before she had time to do anything about it, trouble did, in fact, arrive.

It was a patrol of men wearing the Mac Tir dragon. Eideann stood before them as they approached, slowly drawing her knives.

“Well, look what we have here, men. I think we’ve just been blessed.” Their captain was a large man with a ridiculous mustache that looked like it was trying to eat his face.

“Didn’t we spend all morning asking about Lady Cousland, and everyone said they hadn’t seen her?” his Lieutenant asked. Alistair made a noise beside her, but Morrigan did not bother to look.

“It seems we were lied to,” the Captain said darkly.

  
“Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble. There are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge,” came a soft Orlesian voice. Morrigan wrinkled her nose as a woman clad in Chantry robes joined Eideann.

“They’re more than that,” the Captain demanded. “Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you’ll get the same as them.” Eideann held out her hand, and Morrigan recognized the same dangerous look as she had given the bandits on the road.

“I don’t need your help, Sister, please stand back,” the woman said quietly. The Chantry sister looked affronted.

“You don’t need my protection, but these poor men are just blindly doing what their master commands,” she said simply.

“We are not the blind ones!” the Captain protested. “I saw what happened at Ostagar! I was there!” The woman with the halberd had risen to her feet and was slowly pacing around them, her halberd in hand now.

“Teyrn Loghain’s men are all gone. Are you deserters?” she said simply in a soft voice. Loghain’s men started. The entire inn seemed to have turned on them with that one woman’s movement.

“Stand back, Sister,” Eideann said again, but the Chantry sister drew a knife instead.

The battle was short and bloody. It resulted in the Captain laying on the floor, pleading for his life. Eideann simply pierced his heart with her blade.

“They can’t go running to Loghain,” she said when the Chantry sister protested. “Say a prayer for them, Sister.” The woman did while Eideann wiped the blood from her blade, then they were stood in the awkward aftermath, staring at one another.

“Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana,” the Chantry sister said after a moment. “One of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or I was.”

“Eideann,” was the blunt reply. Morrigan looked for the woman with the halberd but she was gone, slipping out in the middle of the fighting it seemed.

“Those men said you are a Grey Warden. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? I know after what happened, you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I am coming along.” Eideann’s eyes narrowed. Morrigan wanted to refuse the woman outright, but Eideann silenced her, considering.

“Why? If you want to help people, do it here. I need more than prayers, Sister.”

“I can fight. I can more than fight. And I had a dream. A vision. The Maker wants me to help you!” the sister protested.

“More crazy?” Alistair said weakly. “I thought we were all full up…” For once they were in agreement. Morrigan pursed her lips.

But Eideann ignored them both.

“I won’t turn away help when it’s offered,” she said simply. “But we will be discussing this…vision.” She looked down at the dead bodies littering the ground and then about at the startled crowd and sighed.

“Perhaps your skull was split worse than Mother thought,” Morrigan muttered, appalled. A Chantry sister? What good would she be?!

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Eideann said to the barkeeper, who looked a little feint. “Do you know where we can get supplies?”

There was little enough to be had, but Eideann did a good trade with a farmer called Old Barlin, getting them a few tents, a bit of food, and a cookpot. Leliana also proved useful, procuring a few extra goods from the Chantry. At least there was that. Morrigan sighed, considering the group before them. A Templar, a Sister, someone who was apparently a noble, and a filthy mutt. Wonderful. The Blight will surely be stopped now.

***

She was a Cousland. No wonder she had assumed he knew her. No wonder she had been summoned to Cailin’s wartable. She was a Cousland. Even he knew that name.

He could hardly think straight. All this time, he had thought her some lesser daughter of a lesser Bann who was pushing people around as servants. He thought she had been gruff about things, annoyed by the ritual and annoyed at dealing with people she thought beneath her. She had shoved the Warden’s pendant away without even really accepting it.

But then he wondered again at her hair, at her reluctance to say more about why she was there. He did not understand how a Teyrn’s daughter would end up in the Grey Wardens. And the men of Highever had been horrified to see her. Ser Jory had wanted to know if his wife was safe when he saw her. Something terrible had happened to bring her to Ostagar with Duncan. He remembered her words before the joining, then. _So it was all for nothing, fleeing here. I might die all the same._ He remembered the argument she had been having with Duncan out of earshot after the King’s war council. He remembered how distracted Duncan had seemed at her words, and how dark she had seemed.

He remembered the resolute calm in her voice by the swamps in front of Flemeth’s hut when she had declared Loghain a traitor, like she was not even a little surprised. Just resigned.

“A Qunari.” He looked up to see her peering at the northern gate. A cage stood beneath the entrance, and within, taking up almost all the space, was a Qunari.

“The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire farmhold. Even the children,” Leliana said sadly. Alistair looked sidelong at the lay sister. She seemed well enough, though her talk of visions was unsettling. He wondered too at her story. There was a sadness in her grey eyes that made him feel a little sorrow.

“Why?” Eideann asked her, looking back.

“This is a proud and majestic creature. If we can see no need for him, at least set him free.” Of course the witch would think so.

“Mercy from you?” Alistair asked her darkly.

“I also suggest Alistair take his place in the cage,” the witch added simply.

“That was more what I was expecting,” Alistair sighed.

“To be left here to starve or be consumed by the darkspawn. That is too cruel,” Leliana said quietly. Alistair nodded.

Eideann approached the cage.  
“You are not one of my captors. I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace,” the Qunari said in a low-pitched voice. Eideann put a hand on the cage.

“Who are you?”

“I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari peoples,” he said suspiciously.

“I am Eideann, please to meet you,” she replied with a voice Alistair realized was probably trained for formal court meetings.

“You mock me,” Sten said sharply. “Or else you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands.”

“What are you doing in here?” Eideann asked.

“He murdered – “

“I want to hear it from him,” Eideann said, silencing Leliana. The lay sister fell quiet, watching her with an odd expression. Sten had a similar expression.

“I have been convicted of murder. Have the villagers not spoken of this?” There was a wary sort of negotiation going on between them, Alistair realized. He wondered if Eideann had done the same with him without his knowing since their first meeting. She probably had.

“Capturing you must have been difficult,” she replied quietly. Her hand was still on the bars. Sten seemed to be wary of it.

“There is no difficulty in capturing prey that surrenders.”

“You didn’t resist capture?” Eideann’s eyes were narrow. She was gleaning a story from this, he understood, and was curious.

“I waited for several days until the knights arrived,” Sten replied with a touch of irritation. Eideann nodded, more to herself perhaps, and then licked her lips.

“I find myself in need of skilled help. I am looking for men willing to fight against the Blight.”

“The Blight?” Sten’s odd purple gaze seemed to light up a little with the glint of some unknown purpose. “Are you a Grey Warden then?” Eideann did not reply. She did not need to. He pondered this a moment, and Alistair watched a little uncomfortable at the thought of a murderer joining them. Then he checked himself, because many of the Wardens had criminal pasts. This would be no different. “Strange,” Sten mused. “My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens’s strength and skill, though I suppose not every legend is true.” Eideann simply smiled ever so slightly and gave a bow of head. She turned from the cage then, letting her hand fall, and led them back through the village towards the Chantry.

“What are you doing?” Alistair asked her carefully.

“Recruiting,” she replied simply enough. “If you have left it up to me, I shall do what I think is right.” She would say nothing more, but instead opened the massive Chantry door and held it for them all to enter. Morrigan looked a little miffed, and so Alistair decided he was fine with it.

Eideann, it appeared, had intended to see the Revered Mother. She pulled Leliana aside and the pair of them exchanged a few words before Leliana disappeared further into the Chantry. This left Eideann, Alistair, and Morrigan loitering about with Angus at their feet.

Alistair found himself gazing about the small Chantry. It was nothing so large as the Chantry where he had been raised as a boy after Eamon had disowned him. It was small, full of weeping people and frightened faces. Too many people wore armor here. He felt uncomfortable.

He was scanning the faces when he saw one he recognized. He peered for a moment to make sure, but there was no doubting it. It was Ser Donall, a Redcliffe Knight who he remembered for his propensity to gift him with sweets and spun sugar before he had been sent to the Chantry. He did not even check with Eideann and Morrigan. He took off across the hall at a quick pace, calling out.

“Ser Donall?”

The man turned, and recognition dawned on his face.

“Alistair? Is that you?” The distance was closed in an instant, and they embraced, their armor clanging together. Alistair was acutely aware of his Grey Warden garb earning them odd looks. It was dangerous to be so open about it, but he had nothing else. Ser Donall just looked him over and then nodded, a look of pride on his face. “By the Maker, how are you? I was…certain you were dead.”

“Not yet,” Alistair said quietly, sensing Eideann and Morrigan joining them. “No thanks to Teyrn Loghain.” Ser Donall darkened.

“If Arl Eamon were well, he’d set Loghain straight soon enough,” he said gently. Alistair felt a shot of fear.

“If Arl Eamon is ill, why are you here?” he asked, dreading the answer. What would bring knights of Redcliffe so far away in such a crisis?

“Our only hope now is a miracle,” Ser Donall admitted. “Every knight in Redcliffe has gone in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.” Alistair heard Eideann curse behind him.

“What is this illness?” she asked quietly.

“We do not rightly know, miss,” Ser Donall answered. “Alistair, we do not know how much time he has left. If we cannot find Andraste’s ashes…”  


“Without Arl Eamon, we have no hope against Loghain,” Eideann said.

“The Arl is a popular man, it’s true, but Teyrn Loghain is a hero throughout Ferelden,” Ser Donall agreed. “Whatever the Teyrn has done or not done, Arl Eamon remains ill, or worse.”

“Circles within circles,” Eideann said cryptically. Ser Donall looked at her a moment, then back to Alistair.

“I am sorry, Alistair. I must continue my search.” Alistair nodded, his hope dimming. If they did not have Arl Eamon…

He watched Ser Donall depart, heading for the door, and then felt Eideann’s hand close on his wrist. He blinked, looking to her, but she was looking away into the cloister. He narrowed his eyes.

“This is connected,” she said in a murmur for his ears alone. “This is all connected.”

“To what? What is?” She would say no more.

Leliana emerged from the back rooms and beckoned to them, so they crossed to join her. Eideann made quick work, with Leliana’s assistance, of getting the key to the Qunari’s cage from the Revered Mother. And she left a little of the money taken from the bandits on the collection plate as they left, an offering back to those who had lost so much. Alistair felt a little better about her for it. But her words still scared him.

  
_This is all connected_.

He did not like the sound of that one bit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidonie Hawke tells Eideann Cousland of the civil war; the group makes camp and begins to set out their plans; Eideann begins to sense the Archdemon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Warnings
> 
> Comments are welcome :)

The door slammed and Sidonie closed her eyes.

“You started a fucking fight! With soldiers! Do you want the Templars to come looking for you?!” Carver was stomping about the house with all the fury of a raging bull. Their mother looked up sharply.

“What?” she asked, her voice arching. “You did what?”

“Helped some people, that’s all,” Sidonie said, reigning in her anger. It was there, below the surface, where Carver’s was bursting for all to see. She did not have that luxury. Her anger would be a feast for demons if she let it. She pushed it away. “There was a tussle in the bar, and now it’s done.”

“Oh, Sidonie…” her mother despaired. 

“More than a tussle!” Carver spat. “They’re dead!” 

“Of course they’re dead. They were going to kill people. I was just being proactive.” Sidonie reached to sip her tea, but the cup was knocked from her hands, hot liquid splattering across the table. She turned calmly to Carver, intending to speak her mind, when there was a cough near the entrance.

Bethany gently shut the front door. She had been away at the Chantry again. 

“What’s going on?” she asked in the voice that calmed the world. Carver tore his angry gaze away from Sidonie’s and stalked across the room to slam the door to their bedroom. Bethany watched him, then looked to Sidonie and Leandra with worried eyes. “What have you done now?” she asked Sidonie gently.

“Won a bar fight.” At Bethany’s look, she hastily added, “No magic, I promise.” Bethany gave her a dark look, then crossed to the bedroom and entered, closing the door behind her. Sidonie sighed, channeling her frustration into a small flame that she let dance across her fingers. Her father had taught her that trick. Fire and force. These were the ways to let anger out. 

She had never told her mother that. Her father never had either. 

Leandra Hawke swatted her hand and the flame disappeared.

“Sidonie,” she said in the same tone Bethany would use. Those two were too alike. Carver and Sidonie were kindred spirits, for all the good it did them. The two together was like a powder keg. And it only took one spark. “You know we can’t risk such things. You could have kept your head down.” Her mother seemed to realize what she was saying. “No, you were always Malcolm’s daughter. You couldn’t have, could you?”

“They needed help,” Sidonie said simply. “I don’t say no to people who need help. Besides, we almost lost Carver because of Loghain.” But she said nothing else, willing the anger down into a low simmer and then dousing it within a pool of calm. She pictured a great dark pool within her and drowned all the anger away. “Mother, we should leave.”

“There are so many people here who need our help, darling,” Leandra said simply, rising to finish her cooking. Sidonie watched her, completely incapable of cooking herself without setting something aflame, and said nothing. She knew she had to keep pushing, keep trying.

“Sooner or later, they will come,” she said quietly, hoping it would do the trick. “If we don’t leave now, we may not get the chance. Even the last Grey Wardens have made it north. The darkspawn cannot be far behind, Mother.” There was a clatter of pans, and Sidonie realized her mother was shaking.

“I can’t. I can’t just leave it all. What your father and I built. I can’t.” 

“Think of Bethany. Think of Carver. It isn’t safe, Mother.” 

“We will be fine. We will go when we have to,” Leandra said in a thin voice. It was not enough. Sidonie let it drop. One way or another they would leave Lothering. Best to do it sooner, but another day…another day would be fine. 

She glanced over towards the door where Bethany and Carver shared a room. Then she sighed, rising. Leandra stared at her, watching as she gathered her staff.

It had been her father’s idea. Carver, ever feeling undervalued, had gone in search of something he was good at as a boy. That had led him to the Chantry and the Templars, who laughed at him at first, then grudgingly let him train with them. Malcolm had been concerned at first, but it became apparent that Carver intended to keep their family secret, and his involvement with the Templars actually gave them a shield from suspicion. It was then that Bethany began to visit the Chantry to pray, and did not feel afraid they would find her.

Their father had never been good with a blade, and before long Carver soon became too much for Malcolm in sparring matches. He wanted a challenge. And Sidonie had provided one, almost by accident, responding to some insult thrown her way in sibling rivalry with a stick and an impromptu match. It had left them both exhausted, and they had fought to a draw. 

Malcolm had arranged for the staff then. It was a rare mage who could manage weapons as well as magic. The staff had the spearheads on both ends, and a silverite axe-head. But it was light from the alloys and hollowed out and filled with a lyrium-infused core. Since then, Sidonie and Carver had been neck and neck in a competition to be the best. This was something Carver could directly compete with. And he wanted to win.

Sidonie strapped the staff to her back and summoned Lady, who was prowling about the kitchen looking for scraps.

“Where are you going?” Leandra asked.

“I need to speak to someone.” She intended to find those Wardens. She needed to know how long they had, to understand what the options were. Leandra made an annoyed noise.

“Sit down, young lady.” There was no strength in the voice, and Sidonie raised a black eyebrow at her mother. 

“I will be back soon,” she promised. “I think Carver won’t come out until I go anyway.” And she gave a soft whistle to Lady before leaving the house.

Dusk was beginning to settle. She was intrigued to notice the Grey Wardens were still in the town. The blonde-haired woman leading them, Lady Cousland, was an odd character, bossy one moment then slyly working through puzzles in her head the next. There was another woman with dark hair who could only be a witch, the way she held herself. She even looked Chasind, which was odd. The only Grey Warden in armor was a man who seemed a little dazed by everything he had encountered so far. They had also picked up two more people: the criminal Qunari who had murdered the people on the farm out east, and Leliana, a Chantry sister that Bethany occasionally spoke with. Sidonie watched them with narrowed eyes and then slowly crossed to fall into step with them. 

It earned her an odd look from the Qunari, a hello from Leliana, and a bark from their mabari, who suddenly seemed best friends with Lady. Sidonie watched the dogs a moment, then looked up to the Grey Wardens, Lady Cousland and that blond fellow.

“The woman from the bar,” the apostate said simply. Well at least someone recognized her. Sidonie bowed her head slightly.

“A pleasure to meet you. I came to make sure you were alright, but it seems,” she examined the party again, “you’ve got a few more friends now.” Lady Cousland was watching her.

“Did you need something?”

“Oh I always need something. And if I don’t, I think of something quickly.”

“This is Sidonie,” Leliana said. “She lives here in Lothering.”

“You should leave,” the blonde Lady Cousland said simply. “It isn’t safe. The darkspawn are coming.”

“We will. Mother is just trying to find a way to pack our whole house,” Sidonie said simply. “I was wondering something?” The Cousland Warden was wary. “Why is Teyrn Loghain trying to kill you?” She knew it was the wrong question the moment the Wardens tensed. “My brother was at Ostagar. I know the fool cut and run instead of coming to help the King like the plan said. But surely he knows better than to hunt a Cousland. And a Grey Warden. And anyone else that’s following you around. Lady, stop it!” The dog had piled onto Lady Cousland’s mabari and was tugging at the other creature’s ear playfully. Lady Cousland sighed.

“Angus!” she said in a sharp tone and the two dogs looked up at them with wide eyes. “Enough.” They slowly parted and Lady Cousland considered Sidonie with eyes the color of rain. Was that a normal blue? Odd. 

“Look, I can’t tell you much, but the darkspawn are coming. There is a horde ten thousand strong or more on the horizon, and you need to leave and take as many of these people with you as you can. Maker, this place will be overrun in days. There’s only two of us left. We cannot help you. And with the Bann gone…” She looked weary in that moment. Sidonie realized there were puncture holes in her armor. Had the woman been shot? She darkened.

“I understand. I’ll do what I can to get them out, if I have to start a fire at the end of the field and burn the place myself to do it,” Sidonie replied. And that was something she was quite capable of doing. “There’s only two of you left?” 

“We are hoping to get reinforcements from the Orlesian Grey Wardens,” the other Grey Warden finally said. Sidonie shook her head.

“The Teyrn’s closed the border. He called them an Orlesian army. Paranoid git.” She looked about a moment, making sure no one could overhear them. “Look, word has been difficult to come by, but they say he’s proclaimed himself the Queen’s Regent and he’s massing a new army. The Bannorn is up in arms. They don’t like the idea any more than you do.” She grimaced. “All this war nonsense. It’s just like nobles to faff about while there are worse problems to deal with.” Her gaze slipped to Lady Cousland but there was no response.

“The Bannorn is rising against him?” she asked instead. Sidonie nodded. “Thank you for telling me.” Sidonie looked them over.

“Also, and it isn’t much, but there’s a few merchants that are taking a slow route north. If you hurry onward, you’ll be able to catch them. They still have armor in stock.” She looked pointedly at Lady Cousland’s damaged armor and then nodded. “Right, well…good luck with all the darkspawn nonsense. I’ll do what I can here. Let me know if you end the Blight, yeah? It would be nice to sit down and have a drink instead of worrying for once.” 

“Thank you again for your help in the tavern,” Lady Cousland said suddenly. “It was appreciated, but you were gone before I could say so earlier.” SIdonie nodded it away. She had honestly been itching for a fight, so she had been happy to oblige in a meaningful way. “I hope we meet again.”

“I don’t. You’re meant to be fighting darkspawn and I want to be as far from them as I can get.” She sniffed. “But you never know.” Lady Cousland and her party watched as she veered away from them with a small salute. “I wish you luck, Wardens. Kill a darkspawn or two for me.” But inside she was feeling a deep pit of despair. They needed to leave. The Wardens had said they had a day or two at most. There was no more time. If she could not make their mother understand…

She sighed and turned around, heading back into the village, but she did not go home. She went to the encampment in the south and started spreading the word. Someone had to know. Someone had to be told. If she could save any at all, it would be better. And Sidonie Hawke would save as many as she could.

***

Alistair watched as Leliana fished a leather cuirass from the back of Bodahn’s wagon and tried it against herself to see if it was likely to fit. It had been a stroke of luck, really, to find the dwarven merchant and his son as they had. Bodahn and Sandal had been further up the road from Lothering under attack by a darkspawn raiding party. Eideann – Maker, she was Eideann Cousland. He still had not come to terms with that information – had been right in the thick of it in an instant. Bodahn and Sandal had decided to stick with them for the help, glad of an armed guard, and had been willing to give them a good deal on any arms and armor they might need to outfit themselves.

Alistair had swapped his Grey Warden plate for grey iron scalemail to avoid recognition on the road. His plate was safely tucked away in Bodahn’s wagon. The dwarf had promised to keep it safe. Leliana had found a bow she liked the look of, and the Qunari Sten was clad in armor that had been taken from him in Lothering. He had declined a sword, until Eideann had informed him that he was useless to her without one and he grudgingly ended up with a thing twice Eideann’s size. 

Eideann herself was clad in grey iron scalemail that matched Alistair’s. She had transferred all her belongings over and done a fair trade with Bodahn for her battered old chainmail. She sat now, her back to a fallen log, away from the campfire they had built. Her shield, a fancy thing she always carried and never used, was resting beside her. The two blades she carried were in the grass not far away. Angus was led across her feet. 

He had to say something. And he had to know how a Teyrn’s daughter had come to be a Grey Warden on the run from the law.

Cailin must have known. Alistair felt a fool for not recognizing her. At the Chantry, they had recited the names of the greatest houses and had to learn their scions. Growing up as he had at Redcliffe, he may even have seen her some years ago. No wonder she was surprised he had not known her. Everyone else in Ferelden probably did know her, not to mention how many people outside of Ferelden she may have met. 

He crossed the grass towards the log, then paused when he got a good look at her. Her head was bowed, her knees drawn up close to her chest. She had the pendant filled with darkspawn blood in her hands, the silver chain stretching out from her neck, and she was turning it over and over in her hands. 

At the sound of his approach, she looked up, and her eyes were filled with tears. She hurriedly brushed them away with filthy hands, turning her face so he could not see.

“Yes?” Her voice was hoarse. He swallowed, feeling awkward, and sank into a seat beside her, carefully placing his Warden shield and sword to one side. Angus looked up at him, and he reached to pat the dog’s velvety nose. 

“I…err…” he tried, failing. He settled on a different line of thought. “I’m sorry for not recognizing you.” She shook her head, as though angry at the suggestion.

“How could you? I never even said my last name, did I?” The voice was bitter. “I should have. I just wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want Howe to know I was there. I thought there might be spies. And then the whole mess with the King and Duncan and Loghain…Maker…” It was too much at once. He felt her voice break and he reached out to touch her shoulder. She was shaking.

“Howe?” he asked, starting from the beginning.

“Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine,” she told him. Then she drew her knees closer. “I know you’re wondering why I’m here. What in the Fade is a Teyrn’s daughter doing as a Grey Warden? Maker, I know everyone wants to ask.” She looked to him then. Her eyes were red rimmed but the tears were mostly gone. She grimaced. “I had no choice. We were betrayed. I joined the Grey Wardens in exchange for my life and my mother’s.” Alistair felt a shock of anger at the thought. “She never made it out of the castle. She said she would slow us down. She...my father and my mother, my nephew, and my sister-in-law are all dead.” Her voice caught on the words. “My brother probably is too.” Her brother, Fergus. Alistair remembered her mentioning him. 

He also remembered Fergus arriving at the camp at the head of the Highever reinforcements. Everyone had been so glad to see them. Fergus was a brown haired man in gleaming armor with a quick smile who had immediately gotten half the camp drunk the night he had arrived. He had no way of knowing that his family was lying in ruins in the north. The king had recognized he could track well, and sent him out heading a scouting party. He had never returned.

If what she were saying was true, no wonder Cailin had invited her to the war council. She was, for all intents and purposes, a Teyrna. He felt a chill.

“I’m sorry.” It was not enough. He knew it would never be enough.

“I don’t have time to be sorry,” she said, dropping the pendant and tucking it carefully away. He had thought it meant little to her when he had given it to her. That had been wrong too. It was a symbol of everything lost before the Joining, and she had a lot to remember when she looked at it. He watched as she drew out the papers then, the battered treaty scrolls that bore her own blood now, and unfurled them carefully on the log between them, twisting to look at them. “We need a plan.”

“Eideann…” It was the first time he had used her name. She looked up, sensing the pity in his voice, uncomfortable at it.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. We’ve both lost enough these last few weeks. We don’t have the time to deal with it now.” Alistair thought of Duncan, but quickly pushed the thought away. It hurt to think of the other Wardens. And Cailin…he had been his half-brother. There was something there. It was not nearly the same as the loss of the entire Grey Warden order, but it still hurt. 

He could not tell her. A teyrna? How would she even react to such information? Probably with disdain.

“You said Arl Eamon raised you,” she said, peering at the papers with sore and tired eyes. 

“Did I say that?” Evasion was a bit of a specialty. It gave him time to decide how much he wanted to say. “I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. Like Angus here. A whole pack of them in fact.” Eideann looked up at him, tired, but a small smile played at the corner of her lips.

“That would explain the smell then,” she muttered, going back to reading. 

“Well,” he added, confident now in the approach, “it wasn’t until I was eight I discovered you didn’t have to lick yourself clean.” He bent to look at the papers too, their heads almost touching. “Old habits die hard, you know.”

“And these dogs sold you to the Chantry then?” she asked. She was not even looking to him. Something told him this sort of diversion was not unknown to her. From what he had seen of Fergus Cousland at the camp, he imagined she was well practiced in nonsense.

“There you go, listening to me again,” he laughed. He would tell her a bit of a truth. She had played his game, now he owed her at least that much. “Let’s see. How do I explain this? I’m a bastard.” She looked up. He shook his head. “And before you say anything, I mean the fatherless kind. Arl Eamon took me in, put a roof over my head.” He had lost his smile now. He looked into the deep woods, remembering and choosing his words carefully. “He was good to me, and he didn’t have to be. I respect the man, and I don’t blame him anymore for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough.” Eideann shifted a little.

“You blamed him then I take it?” She was not looking at the treaties anymore. She was peering at him with those eyes the color of rain. He drew a breath and met that gaze, determined to stare her down first, hoping she understood how much it took to admit this much to her.

“I was young and resentful. I remember screaming at him like a child. Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais.” Eideann was nodding. Of course she knew that part. “She resented the rumors that Arl Eamon was my father. He didn’t, but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well,” he added sadly. “The Arlessa made sure the castle wasn’t a home to me by that point. She despised me.”

“You were ten,” Eideann said quietly. “Just a boy.” 

“She felt threatened by my presence. I see that now. I can’t say I blamed her.” 

“That’s why you were angry with me at the temple.” He was startled then, and blinked. She was watching him cautiously. “You thought…you thought I was just pushing people around…that I thought I was better than everyone. You thought I didn’t care what you thought.” 

“I…maybe,” he admitted, looking away. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“I don’t, you know. Think I’m better than you. You’re the one who should be leading us, not me. I’ve just been so busy trying to not think of anything…”

“I like to follow,” he told her. “Anyway…I was angry with you because it seemed like you didn’t care about that pendant.” He nodded to where the darkspawn blood pendant lay on her breastplate. “I didn’t realize…” He sighed. “I had a pendant once with Andraste’s holy symbol on it, the only thing I had from my mother. I was so furious at being sent to the Chantry that I threw it against the wall and it shattered into a thousand pieces.” It hurt to think of it. “Stupid, stupid thing to do. The Arl came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything…and eventually he just stopped coming.” She had picked up the pendant again, but her eyes were on the sword lying in the grass, the silverite one not the steel. The one that matched her unused shield. 

“You were young,” she said quietly. He snorted.

“Yes, and raised by dogs. Or I may as well have been, the way I acted.” He gave a mirthless laugh, wondering if Arl Eamon would even speak to them now. Well…with a Teyrna along, that would not be in doubt. But even so. “All I know is that the Arl is a good man, and love by the people. He was also Cailin’s uncle, so he has a personal motivation to see Loghain brought to justice.” Eideann licked her lips, thinking. 

“So, why have you remained a Templar if you hate the Chantry so much?” she asked suddenly. He grinned.

“Have you seen the uniform? It’s not only stylish but well-made! I’m a sucker for good tailoring.” Eideann had an odd look on her face like she was trying not to laugh at him. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wearing it,” she finally said after a moment to compose herself.

“I keep it hidden under my pillow. Sometimes I’ll take it out just so I can hug it fondly and remember the good old days,” he teased. He liked Eideann Cousland when she smiled. Even if she was laughing at him. She had been so fierce, so driven this entire time, and that was not a bad thing. But when she smiled, he felt like maybe they would be able to do this thing anyway…however massive an undertaking. 

“So you stay a Templar out of sentiment?” she asked him gently.

“Oh sure,” he said dismissively, waving his hand at the wrist. “They said all the self-flagellation would be painful, but you know what they say…one man’s pain…” Eideann’s laugh was a clear sound that disturbed the whole camp. It filled him with joy to hear it. He looked back and caught Leliana staring, and the Qunari shaking his head. Morrigan had set up her gear a far cry from the main camp, but even she was staring. Eideann had a slight blush at being heard, but Alistair grinned, then looked back. “You don’t really want to know about my being a Templar, do you? It’s really quite boring.” Her eyes sparkled as she replied, her voice quieter now so as not to startle the others again.

“Then make up something more exciting.” 

“You know,” he smiled slightly, “I like the way you think.” But he relented. If she kept playing along with his teasing, eventually she would know all his secrets. He would need to watch out for that. But who else in the world could he trust? She was hardly going anywhere. And the more they knew about one another, the easier it would be to work together to end the Blight. “I thought that Arl Eamon had cast me off unwanted, and I was determined to be bitter, But I took some solace in the training itself, I guess. I was actually quite good at it.”

“I’ll say. That smite thing you were doing in the Tower…” she said. He had not thought much of it at the time, simply done as his training had taught him. But it had taken her by surprise, and he was glad it was still useful.

“I didn’t really feel at home anywhere until I joined the Grey Wardens though,” he said simply. “Duncan thought my abilities would be of use, so I kept it up.” She nodded, like it was as she had expected. She probably had. Eideann Cousland was fairly good at working out things for herself, he was learning. He considered her a moment. “What about you? What was Highever like? Before…?” He knew it was dangerous to touch on the topic, but she appeared eager to reply. Those were good memories, and she needed to recall them now.

“I drove everyone mad. My mother was determined to marry me off, but since Anora wed Cailin, I had to do as well myself, and there was the small problem of a lack of available kings, so she was forever fussing over this lord or that. I was always letting her down. All I wanted to do was fight Ser Gilmore or Fergus out in the practice yard, or climb the apple trees in the orchard and throw them at the stable-boy. I used to imagine running away to become a great hero like the Knight Aveline, but my father kept me on a close rein. I spent most of my time learning useful things instead, like how to be a diplomat. I was never much good at it. My mother wanted me to be tactful, and eventually I learned that, but I always wanted things done right away, and I did not like to sit and wait for things to happen. I wanted adventure, to be a normal girl out skipping stones on the bay into the Waking Sea or chasing fennecs up the scree hills. I wanted to dance in the rain and make the trek up to the old dwarven ruins that littered the coast. When Fergus was allowed out, I always wanted to go to.” She smiled, then her smile slipped a little. “I would give anything to have those days back again. It’s no Chantry orphan story, but it was all I had. It was my home.” She looked away to the treaty papers, but she was not reading them. “I guess this is my home now, with the Grey Wardens, with you.”

Alistair blinked, then drew a breath.

“It is? I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said gently. She looked to him then, but said nothing. He sighed. “A time will come when we will have to think about having a real home again, though that seems like a far way off.” He looked at those treaty papers then. There was so much work to do. “And I suppose the Grey Wardens are gone for good, either way.” Two new recruits…that was not the foundation of an order. 

Eideann reached to nudge him, until their eyes met, and that fire that burned there sometimes was back again, flooding him with hope and determination. 

“We will rebuild,” she told him. 

“I suppose you’re right. But I wonder if it would ever feel the same?” She sighed, then lifted the papers a little.

“Let’s end this Blight first,” she said decisively, back to that strength she had displayed at the hut in the Wilds where Flemeth and Morrigan had lived. She pushed herself up, gathering her gear, and Angus leapt to his feet. Alistair followed as she called to their companions to gather around the fire. Morrigan came grudgingly. 

“We have these treaties,” she said when they were all standing about the flames. “They are signed by the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. We also know that Arl Eamon is currently unwell and may need him, and his is one of the few standing armies left in Ferelden. He is also likely to be on our side, should we request his aid and he is well enough to help. So it is time we work out our plan.”

“Do you have something in mind?” Morrigan asked, brow raised and arms crossed like she did not believe them capable of having plans at all.

“In fact I do.” Eideann looked to Alistair. “Arl Eamon has a son and heir, Conor, and his wife is Orlesian. His brother, Bann Teagan, will probably be regent if need be. Because of this, I don’t know that saving Arl Eamon is a priority. I would prefer if we could, but I’m not sure how to get a miracle. So I instead propose we go where we can do the most damage first: the Circle.” 

“The Circle?” Morrigan said with distaste. “Those caged birds?” 

“Why the Circle first?” Leliana asked curiously.

“They have spirit healers at the Circle of Magi, and one may be able to help Arl Eamon. I also do not want to be wandering around trying to find the Dalish or heading underground for the dwarves without access to healing abilities, if the mages are willing to offer it. Mages make for good cover. Morrigan is helpful, but her spells are mostly offensive that I have seen. I want more defense on our side. I am also worried.” She narrowed her eyes. “At Ostagar, at the war council, a Senior Mage tried to stop us from lighting a beacon at all.” Alistair felt a shock of alarm. “If he is allied with Loghain, I worry if we leave the Circle alone too long, the entirety of Kinloch Hold will ally with him. And since Teyrn Loghain does not believe this is a Blight, that would be bad.” 

“Alright,” Alistair nodded, “the Circle first. Then what?”

“The Circle, I hope, will have knowledge about traditional Dalish travel routes. If they do, it will be easier to track the clans as they move northward away from the Blight. Then, when we have their assistance assured, we can go to Orzammar. The dwarves battle the darkspawn in the Deep Roads every day. They have a permanent army of darkspawn veterans and will be the easiest to rally to our cause.” She looked between them all.

“Then,” she finished, “we will march on Redcliffe and meet with Arl Eamon. By that time, he may have allied himself with many members of the Bannorn, and that will mean more political clout brought to bear against Loghain at a Landsmeet. Ferelden’s monarch is chosen by the people. If he has indeed made himself Regent, I am inclined to let him fight this protracted civil war as long as possible to create tensions with his rule. It will make it easier to win over the Bannorn to our side. Also, as horrible as this sounds, letting some of the Bannorn feel the bite of the darkspawn at their heels will give them the motivation they need to take action. If they did not believe it a Blight before, they must see it is a Blight before we will gain their support.” 

“I don’t like the idea of leaving people to that.”

“That is why I also propose this: we will visit the villages between here and our destinations and spread the word as much as possible. We need to ensure those people are evacuated. I would not wish anyone harmed while the Blight spreads simply because people on thrones don’t believe it’s a true fight.” She sounded passionately devoted to that.

“Aha!” They all looked over to where Bodahn was digging in the back of his wagon. He scrambled out and brandished something for them to see. “Here you are, Mistress Warden. You asked if I had anything that might help.” Eideann had meant more generally, in terms of weapons, but the dwarf crossed to them with the strange device and passed it to Eideann. “This may do the trick.”

“What is it?” Eideann asked, turning it over in her hands.

“A control rod. For a golem.” They all stared at it a moment. Bodahn grinned. “A woman sold it to a friend of mine. The golem is not far from here, but it needs the rod and the activation saying to make it work.” 

“And the activation saying is?” Leliana asked, looking intrigued. The control rod was a spindly thing of cut crystal. 

“Dulen harn, she said,” Bodahn reported. “I hope it helps, Grey Wardens. I don’t have anything else.” Eideann was peering at it like she was getting some ideas.

“Thank you, Bodahn. I think it might…” she said softly. Then she sighed and looked to them all. “I’d like to thank everyone for helping. I know it looks bleak, but someone has to stop the Blight, and that someone will be us. Any questions?” There were no questions really, aside from how likely it would be they actually could stop a Blight, just the handful gathered about her. But that was an argument for another day. Instead, Leliana declared she had prepared some stew for them all, and so they poured food between them, Sten taking several bowls. He had been in the cage twenty days without food so far, so no one told him he could not. 

Alistair watched as Eideann Cousland ate her food, scrolling through the treaties like she wanted to memorize the contents. She was an odd one at that. He had meant to find out about her past, and instead he had divulged so much of his own.

He noticed she was watching him suddenly, and felt his cheeks blush a little. He ducked his head and went back to his stew. He was not sure, really, what to think of her. Except one thing: if anyone could stop a Blight, it was her. He believed that, deep down in his soul. They could do it. They would do it. She would not let them fail.

***

She woke in a cold sweat from a horrible nightmare. In it, an endless darkspawn force marched deep within the earth. A dragon, spewing black flames, roared, a sound so loud and piercing it hurt her head. She woke, shaking, and pushed herself up. 

Alistair was watching her from across the fire. It was his turn on watch.

“Bad dreams, huh?” He looked ill at ease himself.

“It seemed so real…” Eideann breathed, settling a little and sitting up on her pallet. They had not had the chance to get enough tents, and it being a clear night it did not matter. 

“Well it is real, sort of,” Alistair told her. “You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That’s what your dream was. Hearing them.” He looked into the dancing flames of the low campfire. It reflected odd shadows across his face and made his eyes look like molten gold in the darkness. “The archdemon…it talks to the horde. That’s how we know this is really a Blight.” Eideann felt a shiver run down her spine, even though she was not cold, and thought of the dream again.

“The archdemon. Is that the dragon?” He sighed. She wondered if they had the same dream. If the dream was something real. 

“I don’t know if it really is a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But yes,” he told her firmly. “That is the archdemon.” He was watching her with eyes that were trying to read her. She knew. “It takes a bit, but you can learn to block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can’t.” He grimaced. “Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you.” He looked away again. “It was scary at first for me too.” 

Eideann considered his words, then nodded slowly.

“Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate it.” It was going to take some getting used to, being a Grey Wardens. Anything he knew might help. 

“That’s what I am here for,” he quipped, the way he did when he was touching on discomfort or troublesome topics and did not really want to feel the tension inherent in those conversations. “To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners.” Eideann was grateful for the veil of humor. She could hide behind it too. It hurt too much to do anything else. If she did not laugh, she would cry until she died.

Since there was no more sleep to be had, she crawled up off the pallet and helped herself to a drink of water from the pool near the camp. Then she considered the companions. Morrigan was still awake, mixing some potion or other at the far end. Eideann narrowed her eyes, but left her alone. The witch had set up her place far from the others, away from distractions. She looked away.

Leliana was looking at her from inside the only tent they had, watching her with those soft grey eyes. Whether it was the appeal of her gentle look or the strength of the Chantry that summoned her, Eideann did not know. She crossed to the lay sister and sat beside the tent. Leliana propped herself up on her elbow. 

“This vision of yours…” Eideann said after a moment, quiet. Leliana sighed.

“I knew this would come up,” she said. “I had a dream.” Eideann nodded, having just had one herself, and let the woman continue. “In it was an impenetrable darkness, and an unbearable noise. I stood on the peak and watched as it swallowed everything. And when it swallowed the last of the sun’s light, I fell, and the darkness drew me in.” Eideann felt cold, recognizing that darkness and noise. Hers were real, so who could say Leliana’s were not.

“What then?” she asked quietly. Leliana watched her a moment with a guarded look, then nodded.

“When I woke, I went to the garden. That day, the rosebush in the corner had flowered. Everyone knew that bush was dead, but there it was, a single rose.” She smiled a little to herself. “It was as though the Maker stretched out his hand to say: ‘Even in the midst of all this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.’” Eideann nodded, calm at the image. Whatever Leliana believed, she could understand the sentiment of hope. She left it alone then, and Leliana retreated back into the tent to sleep. 

Eideann motioned to Alistair to get some sleep, and he went without a word, presumably because neither of them had slept much since the battle. Eideann sat beside the fire, poking it with a stick, while Angus snored beside her. She skimmed the campsite every so often, checking for trouble, always alert.

She noticed Sten had risen and was staring at the sky. She considered him a moment, then gently rose and went to him.

“Why have we stopped?” he asked her sharply at her approach, not even bothering with a hello.

“Everyone must rest. We are not Qunari,” she said frankly. “Anyway, let’s get a few things straight.” He eyed her up suspiciously. 

“There are darkspawn to be fought,” he said in irritation.

“Are you okay? You were in that cage for weeks.” He softened a little.

“You are concerned,” he said. It was less a question and more a confirmation for himself. “You need not be.” She took him at his word, because there really was no reason not to. He seemed hale enough, and he had eaten more than enough of the stew.

“You said you were in the army,” she prompted.

“I am.” Eideann nodded.

“And why would the Qunari send soldiers here?” That was a fair question. The Qunari were mostly in the north, occupying the island of Seheron, once owned by Tevinter. Occasionally they raided further south, trying to convert others to their religion, the Qun. The last thing Ferelden needed during a Blight was a Qunari invasion. 

“The antaam,” Sten said simply, “are the eyes, hands, and mouth of the Qunari. We are how my people know the world.” Eideann shook her head.

“You didn’t really answer my question,” she said. There was almost a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“No. I didn’t.” She sighed, staring at him a moment, a gaze he met right back, then she shook her head again and turned away. She did not have the strength to put up with his stubbornness now. Eventually he would have to answer. She was willing to wait him out. 

She borrowed a map from Bodahn’s wagon while the dwarf was sleeping and took it by the fire to consider their next option. To the northwest were a few villages. They could go that way, then take a ferry to Kinloch Hold where the Circle of Magi was located on an island in the center of Lake Calenhad. 

Lake Calenhad was huge, large enough that it had its own ship trade. It would be foolish to try and walk all the way around it. A boat was a better bet.

There was the village where the golem was located too. Honnleath. It was apparently small, mostly farms, but would soon be overrun. If they were going to save people, this was the only way they could think of to do so. Eideann would stop at each village only long enough to tell them to flee. 

She considered the map a moment longer, then looked about trying to work out the direction from the stars. Eventually she managed it, and rolled up the map, returning it to Bodahn’s wagon. Then she carefully sat down by the fire again and began the tedious process of polishing the family blade brought from Highever. One day she would use it to chop off Arl Howe’s head. It was a thought, at least, and one that kept her going. 

She had a feeling in the weeks to come she would need that thought a few more times.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grey Wardens visit Honnleath to get themselves a golem; Eideann and Alistair discuss Duncan; a revolt begins in the Circle Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.

The darkspawn had beaten them to Honnleath. It made for good practice, murdering them out in the open. There were not too many darkspawn, and for that Eideann was glad. It meant they could actually clear the village, and she was grateful of the chance to see Leliana and Sten in action. It was never a bad thing to know what your people were capable of. And the darkspawn had not been there long, because some of the villagers still remained. Those left alive, Eideann discovered, were kept safe within a crumbling old tower once inhabited by the resident mage to the Arl of Redcliffe. The man, Wilhelm, according to his own documents, had been busy researching demonic activity. Eideann did not like the sound of that at all, but her business was the darkspawn.

With the darkspawn dead, the villagers emerged from their barrier, thanking them all profusely. That was, at least, until Eideann mentioned why they had come to Honnleath in the first place.

The golem had killed its last Master, this Wilhelm, crushed him until he was unrecognizable. Wilhelm’s son told them the story, his voice bitter and angry. Since the day of Wilhelm’s death, the golem had not moved. His mother had sold the control rod in the hopes the golem, Shale he called it, would never wake up again.

There was also another matter. The chamber where they were hiding was part of Wilhelm’s laboratory. It extended beneath the village, going deeper and deeper into the seat of Wilhelm’s research. Eideann considered the letters she had read and decided that would never be a good thing. But Wilhelm’s granddaughter had fled deeper into the chambers when the darkspawn had broken into the tower, and she had not yet returned. A man had been sent to find her, but he had also not returned.

“Find Amalia,” Wilhelm’s son said darkly, “and I will let you take Shale.” Eideann said nothing about the passphrase they already had. If she was of a mind, she could simply leave it be and wake the golem without going after Amalia. But this was a young girl and she knew that Wilhelm had been experimenting with demons. She feared the worst.

“I will try,” she said, but it was no promise. If things were too bad…

The chambers were dark and dusty. Wilhelm had been dead a long time. Eideann led them down, sword in hand, into the bowels of the earth where tree roots were bursting through the stone walls.

“The fool’s research has weakened the veil,” Morrigan told him all darkly. “Be prepared.” It did not take long for them to figure out what to be prepared for. Shades were lurking in the darkness, and they emerged when they sensed the approach of the living. Alistair’s Templar skills proved of use again as he smote them all into dust. Eideann shook her head and grimaced.

“What was he even trying to do?” Alistair asked darkly. Eideann did a cursory examination of the room, an office of sorts, and shook her head. Leliana found a book lodged into the desk, handwritten notes spilling from the binding. She gathered them up and flipped through the fragile pages.

“Journal of Enchanter Wilhelm Sulzbacher. The interrogation of the demon is going well,” she read aloud, her voice suspicious. “I have sent all my research so far to First Enchanter Arden, and while he is concerned for my safety he does not think there is a reason to stop just yet. All I hope is that the Templars do not discover what I am doing. How will we ever find another way to deal with demonic possession if the Chantry does not let us research it?” She looked up. “First Enchanter Arden? I thought the First Enchanter was Irving?”

“Keep reading,” Eideann said checking the next corridor. “It may help us work out what is ahead.” There were odd crystals blooming on the walls. She considered it, and when she touched it, it broke off in her hands. Leliana continued to read.

“Shale is acting strangely. I wonder if I should discontinue my experiments upon it? I am so near a breakthrough, I am certain! Ahh, perhaps it is best if I focus on the demon. 2 Matrinalis: The demon almost managed to get away again. Tricky. I shall have to be more careful. Young Eamon sent a letter asking me to return to Redcliffe. I shall have to consider it. Soon. 19 Umbralia: I think it is time to dismiss the demon. It is too dangerous for me to continue holding it, and I cannot discount the possibility that it is having some influence over the golem. Or is it my experiments? I will try to deactivate Shale for the time being and then deal with the demon once and for all. Let it end here.” She looked up. “That’s all there is.”

“So the golem was influenced by the demon?” Sten asked darkly, seeming unconvinced. “Mages should not be free to do such things.”

“If the Chantry would allow Mages to study how to combat demons – “ Morrigan began.

“If the Chantry let Mages summon demons, the entire world would be overrun,” Alistair shot back. “Clearly whatever happened here killed him, and probably because he was messing about with demons!”

“I think it is safe to assume he was killed by the demon,” Eideann said, “when that demon controlled the golem. That means the demon is still here, probably still trapped.” She grimaced. “Be careful up ahead.” She pocketed the crystal piece and pressed onward.

The tunnel seemed to wind down into the center of the earth. At any minute, Eideann wondered if they would not break through into the Deep Roads themselves. But it came to an abrupt end with a child laughing and a single round room barred with another barried. Eideann reached to touch it carefully before slipping through unharmed.

Amalia, a young girl with braids and a pink pinafore, was kneeling beside a cat that was watching them intently. The girl looked up at their approach and smiled.

“Oh look, someone’s come to play!” she said, sounding delighted. Eideann had been expecting to find a scared little girl. She glanced to her companions. Morrigan had a dark look. Alistair looked on edge. Eideann looked to Amalia who was reconsidering them. “You have come to play, haven’t you? We’re playing a guessing game. It’s better with more people.”

“We?” Eideann said carefully. Her eyes slid to the cat staring at them.

“Kitty and me, of course,” Amalia said. Eideann nodded. “Anyway, you should go if you’re not going to play. Kitty finds you distracting.”

“The cat finds me distracting,” Eideann said. Morrigan scoffed behind her.

“Kitty is clever,” the girl explained, giving Morrigan a dark look. “She says you’ll want to take me back to my father, but I’m not going. She would be lonely.” Beside Eideann, Angus gave a sharp low growl, which startled her. It was the same growl Angus had given at her door when Arl Howe’s men had attacked. It put Eideann instantly on edge.

“I would not suggest leaving in such hostile company anyway, Amalia,” said a syrupy voice. It was the cat. Its eyes glowed purple. The demon. “Look how they act.”

“Amalia,” Eideann said softly, “come here.”

“No!” the girl said. The cat was still watching them.

“Nothing you say will convince Amalia to go with you.” It licked its paw almost dismissively. “She loves only me now.” Eideann narrowed her eyes. “I am her friend while you are just a stranger.” She did a quick stock of the circumstances.

Amalia was probably a mage, or at the very least had enough magical blood from her grandfather to make the situation very dangerous. It was probably what had drawn the demon to her. Eideann was no expert on mages, but she knew that demons hunted mages and preyed upon weakness. Amalia, alone in this place, the only child in Honnleath that Eideann had seen, would have been very lonely. How to get through to her while warding off the demon? Demons were tricky. Their power was in the mind, not in strength, for they came from the Fade, the world of dreams and sleep for mortals. She would have to outwit the thing if she wanted Amalia back safe.

She looked to the girl, then the cat.

“A stranger,” she said slowly, “who finds you very interesting.” She heard Sten give a low sniff of disapproval. Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but Eideann held up a hand. The cat-demon laughed a little.

“Did you hear that, Amalia? I have another admirer.” She looked beyond them at the barrier. “I have been cut off from the outside world for years. It is maddening. Release me, mortal, and let me have the girl. Let us return ot her father and leave this place forever.” It was the sort of offer meant to make things easier for everyone. Eideann shifted.

“Don’t you think he’ll notice something out of place?” she asked casually. It was a careful dance. Alistair made a sound if protest.

“Mortals often allow themselves to be blinded by hope. They see what they wish to see,” the cat replied, reminding Eideann for a horrible moment of Flemeth outside her hut.

“I’ll let you go,” Eideann said quietly, “but you need to leave the girl.”

“You can’t be – !?” Eideann shot Alistair a glare. The cat smirked, if such a thing was possible.

“But I do like this one!” it said with a sigh. “But if it means escaping this prison, I am willing to leave on my own.” She directed them to a number of puzzled wards set by Wilhelm. Amalia, blissfully unaware of the danger she was in, grinned.

Eideann crossed to the warding puzzle, and Alistair drew up beside her.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded. “That is a demon!”

“Do you think I don’t know that!”

“You can’t just set it free!” The others had drawn close too now. Morrigan was examining the puzzle. Leliana was still watching Amalia and the cat-demon. Sten gave a low growl

“Parashaara,” he spat some Qunari curse. “The boy is right. A demon cannot be allowed to live.”

“Wait, and see. And be ready,” was all Eideann would say. Morrigan motioned to her.

“’Tis a simple enough puzzle,” she said. “A demon could not do the work, the stones are too heavy, and the girl could not for the same reason. But we can, now we are here in number.” A line of fire danced at one end. She pointed to a patchwork of stones with channels for the flame. “When the puzzle is aligned, the fire will flow to the end. Then the wards will break.” Eideann nodded.

“Help me then.” Together they moved the pieces, until at last the fire danced from one end of the warding puzzle to the other, and the barrier dissolved. The cat-demon stretched its feline back.

“Yes! I can feel the magic fading!” it said in an elated voice. Eideann moved to put herself between the demon and the door. “I had forgotten how it feels not to be caged!” Amalia was looking between them now, concern on her face.

“Kitty? What’s happening?” she asked in a smaller voice than before. Eideann felt Alistair shift beside her and knew he was preparing more Templar skills should the worst happen. At least he was not questioning her anymore. He had worked out what she was trying to do.

“A wonderful thing,” the cat-demon said, “for both of us.”

“Now leave the girl alone.”

“I have changed my mind,” the demon said darkly. Amalia rose, backing away hurried.

“Kitty, you’re scaring me!” she declared, coming to stand by Eideann. Eideann motioned to the entrance, and Amalia had the good sense to run. The cat-demon gave a fierce howl of anger, then _shifted_. It grew, its body becoming more human, and its flesh purple. Horns sprouted and curled from its head. Yellow eyes glared at them.

“So be it,” she said in that syrupy voice, now thick with something darker, tainted. Eideann’s blades rang from their sheaths.

Kitty, or whatever the demon called itself, had friends. They found themselves suddenly facing monsters made of fire that roared and surrounded them. But they had come this far, and Alistair was a Templar. His power let loose, blasting through the demons and causing them to stagger back. Kitty was slain with his blade through her heart, and she crumbled to the ground in a heap. The fire monsters were harder to kill, because the heat coming from them was awful. It burned to be so close, like standing in the sun all day. Eideann felt sweat slipping down her brow. But even these had to die, and die they did. When it was over, Eideann sank back into a seat on the steps leading into the chamber and took stock.

“You could have let it free!” Alistair spat, wheeling on her. “What were you thinking?!”

“That I had to save a girl from a devious demon,” Eideann replied simply.

“’Twas well done,” Morrigan said, examining the puzzle. “Though that man was a fool to have summoned her here in the first place.”

“At least the girl is alive,” Leliana replied, sliding an unused arrow back into the quiver at her back. “And the demon is dead.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” Eideann said quietly, throwing the credit in his direction for that. He seemed uncertain how to take the compliment, so he just bowed his head and sheathed his sword.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” he remarked.

Back at the top of the chambers, Amalia had reached her father, who was fussing over her to make sure she was okay. He looked up to see them, then clasped Eideann’s hand in his.

“You did it! You freed her! Thank you so much!” Amalia looked between them, then at her feet.

“I’m sorry I ran away, Daddy,” she told him in a quiet voice. “I was so scared.”

“It’s alright, Butterfly,” Matthias, her father, told her. “You’re safe now.” He met Eideann’s eyes. “The phrase to activate Shale is Dulen Harn, if you still want that bloody thing. I wouldn’t if I were you.” Bodahn had been correct then. “Now we should go, and quickly.”

“Use the North Road,” Eideann told them. “The darkspawn horde marches up from the Wilds. You’ll need to get north to avoid them. Try to reach Waking Sea.” Matthias nodded, thanking them again, and then hurried Amalia up the tower steps to the village.

The day was bright and hazy through the smoke of burning buildings, but at least the darkspawn were gone for the moment. Eideann watched as the last of the villagers gathered a few meager belongings and then took the path northward. Then she turned to the village fairgrounds.

Shale, the golem, stood in the center, a great statue with arms outstretched. Eideann noticed a basket of birdseed nearby as she approached and shook her head. The golem was covered in bird droppings, even now. It seemed a gimmick, not a golem, and it was smaller than she had expected.

“Well, let’s give it a go,” she said, and drew forth the control rod. “Dulen harn”

***

It had made short work of the darkspawn and then disappeared into that damnable tower. Now it had a stupid control rod. It was here for Shale. Of course it was.

And it had brought another mage. Lovely. Another mage.

The moment it freed Shale from being a statue, the plan was to see if all mages were as delightfully crushable as the old Master had been. Not that Shale could remember crushing him. Shale liked to imagine it sometimes though. The smushy goo between stone fingers. The pooling blood and the gurgling dismay as the old mage died.

Golem, fetch this. Golem, carry that. Golem, don’t crush my head into goo.

“It looks like a golem, doesn’t it? An actual golem?” It was the red headed one who spoke. Bright one, that red headed squishy thing. Give it a prize.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” That was the one with the guileless face and the need to be given orders. What was it doing thinking? Surely that should be someone else’s job?

“Well, let’s give it a go,” said the one with the control rod. It did not seem nearly as concerned. “Dulen harn.”

And oh, it was like melting. Suddenly the world had unfrozen. A giant cracking noise as Shale tried to move, and then could, and oh how wonderful.

Time to squash things.

“I knew that the day would come when someone would find the control rod,” Shale said simply, liking the sound of words. It had been so long since words. How lovely. “It probably stumbled across the rod by accident, I suppose. Typical.” Shale shrugged, and shrugging was wonderful. So Shale did it again.

“Hello to you too,” the yellow headed thing with the rod said, watching. It did not seem remotely concerned about the impending squashing. Perhaps a bit of warning first, then? It was no fun to squish something that did not have a mask of horror at the thought.

“I stood here in this spot and watched the wretched little villagers scurry around me for, oh, I have no idea how long. Many, many years.”

“Oh you poor dear,” the red headed one said. “That would be…really, really boring.” Another prize for the obvious.

“And the villagers had no idea they were being watched?” the guileless one said. “Creepy.” Shale heaved a great sigh. Hopeless, all of them. Would it kill them for one of them to be terrified? Just one.

“I was just beginning to get used to the quiet, too,” Shale muttered. “Tell me, are all the villagers dead?” Facing outward as it had been, Shale really had no idea if they were dead or not. It was hard to see what happened behind one’s own head. The yellow headed one shook its head.

“Not all of them, no.”

“Some got away then. How unfortunate.” The next time someone put a hat on Shale’s head for a feast day…

“You are called, Shale, yes? That’s your name?” the yellow headed one asked. How curious.

“Perhaps,” Shale responded suspiciously. “I may have forgotten after all the years of being called golem.” Shale sniffed. “Golem, fetch me that chair. Do be a good golem and squash that insipid bandit. And let’s not forget golem, pick me up, I tire of walking.” This was very strange. With a control rod, it should have been able to stop all this chatter. But the yellow headed thing had given no orders. What was going on? “It does have the control rod, doesn’t it? I am awake, so it must.” The yellow headed creature lifted the rod and looked pointedly at Shale.

“It certainly does, right here in its hand,” was the reply. Shale decided it liked it a little then.

“Go on. Order me to do something.” The yellow headed thing blinked.

“What? Why?” Shale sighed.

“Just do it.” There must be something wrong, and there was only one way to test it.

“Alright…walk over there.” It pointed. Shale waited a moment.

“And, err…nothing. I feel nothing,” Shale said, surprised. “I feel no compulsion to carry out its command. I suppose this means the rod is…broken?”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that?” The yellow headed one was smiling now, tucking away the broken rod inside its bag.

“Hmm. I suppose if I can’t be commanded, this means I have free will, yes? It is simply, what should I do? I have no memories aside from watching this village for so long. I have no purpose. I find myself at a bit of a loss.” Shale peered at them. “What about it? It must have awoken me for some reason. What did it intend to do with me.”

“I don’t intend to do anything with you.” What an odd reply.

“Ah, how unexpected. Yet refreshing.” Shale considered a moment. Without a control rod, there were limitless options, but Shale had been stone for so long, unmoving, that it was not sure what those options actually were. It thought it over, trying to decide, then sighed. “I suppose I have two options, do I not? Go with it, or go elsewhere. I do not even know what lies beyond this village.”

“Well,” the yellow headed one said quietly, “what do you want to do?” Another surprise.

“I watched this village for so long, unable to move or act, so I have no idea what I want to do. I’m glad to be mobile. Is that not enough?” Really it should be. The rest was none of its business.

“You are welcome to come with me.” It was an offer. Not a command. The guileless one looked startled.

“Are you certain you want to bring that _thing_ with us?” it asked, as if Shale could not hear. Shale glared at it. “It could be dangerous.” Absolutely. “And large.” No doubt. The yellow headed one just smiled.

“Thanks for stating the completely obvious,” it said simply. The guileless one stepped back.

“You’re welcome. It’s good to have a purpose you know.” But it sighed and looked between the yellow headed one and Shale.

“I will follow it about, then, for now,” Shale finally said. “I am called Shale by the way.” That was more for the guileless one’s benefit since it had just called Shale thing.

“I am Eideann, please to meet you.” The yellow headed one was called Eideann.

“This should be interesting,” Shale muttered. Then took a step. A slow, cautious step. And it worked. Oh how wonderful.

Maybe it would not squash them all.

Maybe just the Mage.

***

They stopped through a few more towns before they at last reached the southern edge of Lake Calenhad. There were no ferrymen about, all having fled north, so they were forced to continue on foot. It was slow going, and Eideann wished they had horses. She began to regret not going first to the Hinterlands for horses, but she knew that if they had made that detour, they would need to call at Redcliffe, and she still did not want to go to Redcliffe without a healer. If there was anything that could be done, she wanted it done.

They had a good few weeks on the road, however. She had taken a more direct route across the Bannorn with Duncan in the journey south, and now they were following the Imperial Highway instead. It made travel easier, but it also made it more likely they would be found.

Shale seemed amiable enough, though entirely practical and unafraid to speak up whenever and wherever it pleased. She was glad it had agreed to accompany them, because if nothing else Shale would be very good at knocking down the doors of those who refused to allow Grey Wardens in. Shale did seem to despise darkspawn, mostly because they were more boring than watching the villagers. Either way, it proved a more interesting companion than otherwise.

Sten was still as somber as ever. Leliana sometimes told stories around the campfire at night, but mostly it was only Alistair and Sandal and Bodahn who listened. They all kept mostly to themselves.

Since the initial conversation with Alistair, Eideann had been mulling over King Cailin’s final words to her. Watch over Alistair, he had said. She caught herself watching him at times, considering, but he was just Alistair to her. He was simple to understand, a little awkward in leadership positions or when asked to speak his mind, and he deflected all uncomfortable conversations with humor. He was a good knight, and a good Templar for all he had never taken oaths, and while he was a little bit in the pocket of the Chantry, he was not pushy. He never spoke of his beliefs, unlike Leliana who seemed overeager to do so.

The Orlesian was a bard. She had admitted as much the first evening after telling Eideann a story and lamenting the fact she had no lute to play. Eideann had let it go at that, but this was a bard with knife skills and a keen archer’s eye. Not to mention, Orlais was a land that thrived on politics and secrets, and their best spies were bards. She had determined to leave well enough alone, because Leliana seemed to want to do so, and Eideann was not yet in a position to do much about it.

Someday soon she would broach the topic, but until then she listened with one ear to Leliana’s stories about the campfire, all while looking over the treaties, or polishing the family sword she had brought with her, or going over all that had happened trying to weasel out the connections. She still was not entirely sure she trusted the Orlesian. She would wait for Leliana to approach her.

They went on this way for many days, falling into the routine of it. They saw other refugees, but it seemed the darkspawn had yet to get so far. Eideann was glad of that, as it meant they still were not far enough north to threaten Redcliffe, which would be arming for an incoming battle. If they arrived and could help the Arl, their forces should already be ready. And if they could not help the Arl, at least an armed force would stand at Redcliffe ready to be led. It would not take much to make Connor Guerrin or Bann Teagan of Rainesfere pledge their aid to her cause. They would have no love of Loghain either.

She was second guessing herself all the time. It was becoming a tiring battle each and every night they were on the road. Sometimes she caught Sten watching her, as if he knew she was uncertain, but she would turn away, more determined to do what was right.

The problem was, of course, that she did not know what was right. She had never led an army, or raised one even, and she was no diplomat. She was the second child, the spare in case something should happen. She was meant to marry well and cement an alliance and then go about being the quiet mistress of a Bannorn castle. At least, that had been her mother’s goal. Eleanor Cousland had had a plan.

And it had all fallen apart.

Eideann caught herself wondering, for the first time since the incident weeks ago, if anyone had told Bann Loren about his wife and son’s demise. She was not the only noble family hit by that attack. And then there was Ser Gilmore, son of a minor Bann, who was sent as a squire to Highever at age ten.

“Oh, Rory,” she sighed, trying not to think on it, but she had no choice. And now seemed as good a time as any to begin grieving.

“Who is Rory?” Alistair had come to stand beside her, Leliana’s nighttime tale done. He had brought her some bread and cheese and a cup of ale. They had had some luck at the last village and found a number of supplies left behind that they could use. Eideann took the cheese and bread, then she eyed the ale suspiciously. He laughed. “It isn’t Ritewine,” he said with a smile.

Ritewine, or Grey Whisky, was something she had not even known about until he had made a joke about it at the previous village. Since Grey Wardens could claim needed supplies, it was apparently a tradition to top off a bottle of alcohol with whatever Wardens could find. It led to a very odd mix of drinks, and all of it horrible. It was to save space, carrying only one bottle or wineskin each, filled with whatever was free. Each Ritewine skin or bottle was labelled. A Warden only drank from his own skin. Since she had heard, she was wary of anything Alistair tried to give her. He had never shown himself the sort to carry that tradition, but he knew enough about it she was certain he had at some point. After all, when it came down to it, and as the Wardens themselves said, nothing quite burns like the first cup. They would never drink anything as horrible as darkspawn and archdemon blood mixed with burning lyrium.

She took the ale and found it to be clean and clear and fresh, which was much better than what she expected Ritewine would be. She considered him a moment, then sighed, nodding. It was time to tell the story to someone, and who better than Alistair.

“Ser Roland Gilmore, the Captain of the Guard. He gave his life to save me and my mother at Highever.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. I thought…”

“You thought he was my paramour,” she finished. Alistair was blushing.

“You have a reputation, you know,” he said quietly, drinking his own cup of ale to hide his embarrassment. “You’re the Flame of Highever, or so they call you.” It surprised her. She had not known. She repeated it, testing the name, then shook her head.

“Makes me sound scary,” she said with a laugh. He nodded.

“Indeed. I guess, I just thought someone who has a name like that is probably up to her ears in suitors.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“That would have made my mother happy at least,” she replied softly. “I think I chased a great many of them away, especially if I had a formidable nickname.” She mused over it a moment, helping herself to the sharp South Reach cheese. Then she looked to him. “Ser Gilmore was just a friend. Annoying sometimes, always improper. It was good at times to be treated like I was not something special. Everyone else tried to step carefully, even though at Highever we teach that no one is above anyone. My old Nan used to tell me a story about thinking you were better than everyone getting you killed.” She drew a deep breath. “I was just thinking about everyone, about this Civil War, wondering if Ser Gilmore’s father has been told, or anyone else’s. A lot of people died there thanks to Howe.” Her voice had turned to steel then. She heard it in her tones and forced it back to normal. “It was just a thought.” She looked to him then. “Do you…do you want to talk? About Duncan?”

Alistair sombered.

“You don’t have to do that. I know you didn’t know him as lomng as I did, and the circumstances of your meeting are not pleasant for you.” Eideann shook her head.

“He was like a father figure to you. I understand.” She had seen the way the two interacted at Ostagar. Duncan had a careful concern for Alistair. And Alistair had been so eager to win his approval, so determined to prove himself in Duncan’s eyes. His loss had been a devastating blow to Alistair.

“I should have handled it better,” the Templar said quietly. “I’m sorry.” Eideann shook her head.

“There’s no need to apologize.” Not for sorrow. Not for grief. The Grey Wardens had been a family to Alistair. He was quiet enough in his grief. She would not force it further down.

“I’d like to have a proper funeral for him when this is done,” he admitted. “I don’t think he had any family to speak of.” Eideann caught his gaze.

“He had _you_.”

“I suppose he did,” was the soft reply. “I probably sound stupid, but part of me wishes I were with him in the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.” That was something Eideann understood. She thought of Highever, her mother and father, her Grey Warden colleagues. She had said to Duncan she would stop the Blight. She had as much as told him he went to his death, and then she walked away.

“I understand completely,” she told him in a low voice.

“Of course, I’d be dead then,” Alistair replied. “I think he said he was from Highever. Maybe I’ll go there, put something up in his honor.” He considered Eideann. She was quiet a moment, and when she looked up again her eyes were shining with that fierce light again.

“Maybe I’ll go to Highever with you when you go,” she told him.

“I’d like that. So would he, I think.”

For a long time afterwards, they stood in silence, looking out over the lake to the west. Eideann thought a lot of home and family as she finished her ale and bread and cheese. And then she thought of the task ahead.

“Maker, give me strength,” she offered a quiet prayer to a god she was not convinced listened at all, if he even existed. And then she quietly went to take her turn at watch.

***

The lights flickered off the walls in eerie ways, as they always had. Sometimes deep purple shadows lay across the brightness, the consequence of a tower lit by magic. The carpets were plush and rich. In some ways, it still startled him to think of how fancy the tower really was. And he lived there. This was his home.

He would never have had anything like this if he had not become a Templar.

He knelt before the statue of Andraste and repeated the oath all Templars took to the Knight Commander. Greagoir was a kind man, hard only when he needed to be, and generally on fair terms with the First Enchanter. The mages at Kinloch Hold were some of the most well-off in Thedas. Few circles were so open and so accepting. Sometimes, he could even sit and play chess with the mages.

He did not do that anymore.

Not since the blood mage had used Solona. Not since he had escaped and not been caught. Not since Solona had been taken to the cells below in his place.

Solona. He considered again going to see her, but pushed the thought aside. She was accomplice to a blood mage, lucky not to be sent to the mage’s prison of Aeonar. It was a place only spoken of in whispers, and only the highest of the Templar order even knew where it was.

Solona had known Jowan since they were children. How could she not? They had grown up together in the tower. She had claimed to know nothing of Jowan’s blood magic, and he wanted to believe her. He really did. But how could that be true, if they all lived so closely, if they were such good friends? He was not sure.

He accepted his week’s ration of lyrium with shaking hands and rose, taking the Maker’s blessing from the Revered Mother there at the tower chapel. Then he took his leave, going to the fourth floor to find some solace in peace and quiet where mages were forbidden and other Templars would be out.

Solona Amell was beautiful. She had soft blue eyes and hair the color of fire that fell in heavy waves to her midback. Thinking of her made his heart beat faster. He forced his mind from the thought of burying his hands in those waves, determined not to provide fodder for the demons that always haunted Templars at night.

It had been only a few weeks since she had been locked away, punishment for the crime of helping a blood mage destroy her phylactery. Jowan, the blood mage, had been on the lists for the Rite of Tranquility. Oh, he understood, but he could not consolidate the Solona he knew with a blood mage apprentice.

She had never done blood magic herself. They had tested that theory and found her clean of demons. Now she had to serve her time until some better punishment came to mind. He was still shaking when he reached his room, so he carefully put his vials of lyrium away in his bedside table, all but one which he sipped the smallest bit from before resealing the bottle with the cork. He tasted the bittersweet taste of the lyrium on his tongue, the metallic aftertaste, and shook his head.

But he felt better, and his mind was clearer, and he had the strength then to avoid going down to the cells.

The senior mages were meeting on the level below. The First Enchanter had permitted the meeting, what was a briefing on the battle of Ostagar. He did not know much about what had happened there, only that it had gone very badly, and they had lost a lot of good mages and good Templars. The King was dead, though that did not really affect them there at the Circle. Greagoir and Irving looked increasingly weary and drawn. He hoped whatever this meeting was about, it might bring them all some measure of peace.

He was just deciding if he wanted to find Ser Carroll, a slightly lyrium addled individual, to play a game of chess with (that way he would win and it would be an easy distraction), when there was a surge of magic from downstairs. It was so massive, it rocked his very soul. The veil itself must have torn wide open to create such a force.

He drew his sword and ran towards the source.

He made it as far as the steps before several of the senior mages emerged from the third floor, dragging with them the bodies of the First Enchanter and several other senior mages. They froze a moment when they saw him.

A few other Templars had come to join him, not as quick as he was but as heavily armed. He lifted his sword.

“Halt!” he called. What was going on? Were they taking hostages, or saving the other mages from whatever was happening downstairs? “Stay where you are.” He intended to find out before he lowered his sword.

The man at their head was a balding senior mage with narrowed eyes called Uldred. He considered them, and then he gave a low laugh.

“Ser Cullen. You really think you can stop me?” So it was hostages then.

It happened in an instant. Five holy smites rammed down onto the landing of the steps where the mages stood, sucking the power from the air. In that same instant, a wave of blood rose about them, hot and thick, choking Cullen and throwing him backwards. Uldred raised his hands, blood dripping from his fingers and an open wound to trickle into the sleeves of his robes, and he shook his head.

“Come, friends. Let’s show them what we really think of Templars,” he jeered to his accomplices.

The last thing Cullen saw was a blindingly bright light. The last thing he felt was a searing burning as magic tore at his flesh and his mind. And the last thing he heard was his own screams.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann confronts Leliana; Sten tells his story; Cullen battles his demons; the Wardens visit Crestwood and Eideann makes a decision; Alistair, Leliana, and Eideann head to Kinloch Hold for Mages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slight Non-Con, Violence

The Circle Tower came into view long before the ferry. The ferry was up north on the topmost point of Lake Calenhad, and a good week’s journey away yet, but the Tower was proof they had made some progress. So distant, it was, and silent. It was a giant spire thrusting high into the sky, sharp and pointed like most Tevinter architecture, the twin of Fort Drakon in Denerim. The Imperial Highway had once run straight to it, built as a great bridge across the lake, but it had long since crumbled. Now, the nearest port and the only point of entry was Crestwood, a small village situated on the River Dane boasting a dam that fed the surrounding farmlands for months and a large fishing trade.

Eideann was familiar with the area, as it was closer to Waking Sea, but it was not in Cousland Lands. Waking Sea was the home of the Eremons, namely Bann Alfstanna Eremon who was ten years Eideann’s senior. Given recent events, Eideann was not sure they could trust anyone outside of Cailin’s immediate relatives the Guerrins, but if there was anyone she could probably sway it would be Alfstanna. The woman had visited Fergus often when they had been younger, before he had wed Oriana. Waking Sea had long been an ally of Highever. 

But then the same could be said of Amaranthine and the Howes. 

Eideann decided that Crestwood would need to be handled delicately. She would deal with Alfstanna Eremon when it became necessary to do so, but for the moment, she needed that mage. Politics were ever at the forefront, but she had made her plan with that in mind, and now she had to stick to it.

As they drew northward, the number of refugees blossomed. They moved in droves, fleeing the darkspawn, some looking like they have been travelling for weeks. A few mentioned they were from Redcliffe, but Eideann did not press for more. She took it as a sign that Redcliffe armed for war, with or without Eamon, and decided to leave well enough alone for the moment. It was hard, however, to know such things and not act immediately. She had never been the patient sort, and now she was having to wait for plans to unfold carefully and quietly. A wrong step would tangle them in a protracted civil war at the cost of the army against the Blight.

She was playing two roles, she knew, and they were each fighting for priority. The Grey Warden knew the Blight had to be stopped first, or no Civil War would matter. But the Teyrna saw Ferelden flailing without leadership, and knew until it was made strong and whole again there would be no peace, even if she could end the Blight. 

They stopped by a small village halfway up Lake Calenhad where the refugees were making their camps. Since dark was falling, and the clouds threatened rain, Eideann pulled her group aside and told them to see if more tents could be found, and more food. Their supplies were low. They kept their heads down, avoiding the attention of anyone on the road, because any of these people could be spies, and all of them had heard by now of the bounty on Grey Wardens issued by the Regent Loghain. 

Eideann left Alistair and Sten to set up camp, and Shale to stand and watch since golems were not adept at pitching tents. Angus wanted to follow her, but she ordered him to stay with Alistair while she went into the market with the other women. She did not trust Leliana alone with so many people, knowing what she did about bards and not yet having the ability to confront her about it. This would be a perfect opportunity to disappear and make some report if need be, and that was not happening on Eideann’s watch. She brought Morrigan because she had learned that Morrigan was good at turning into other animals, and she had decided that Morrigan should be doing that to find information for them.

“I do not see why you think I would enjoy running about as a mouse,” the apostate said darkly, her brows knitted. “I refuse to do your bidding just because it is convenient for you.” Eideann sighed, drawing the woman to one side.

“I need to know what is happening at Denerim, and until you can tell me, we’re not going to be able to get there.”

“Go there yourself. Find this man and slay him,” Morrigan said simply.

“Would that I could,” Eideann muttered. “I need to know which of the Bannorn lords are standing against him, particularly if that number includes Alfstanna Eremon of Waking Sea. I need to know if we are taking a safe route.”

“Safe? Your mission being to kill a dragon at the head of an evil horde and you’re concerned with safety, are you?” Morrigan sniffed, but she went, disappearing around the corner of a few ramshackle houses. There was a flash of light and she was gone. Eideann sighed, turning to Leliana.

“We,” she said simply, “are going to buy supplies.” Leliana considered her, then looked about the market before nodding. At least it would give them the time Eideann needed to discuss Leliana’s history in relative privacy. She did not want Alistair overhearing what she had to say. Not until she knew the truth of the situation. 

They wandered the overcrowded market in silence for a moment. Many merchants were trying to sell necessary supplies, but the desperate refugees were pawning all sorts of items. One woman had all of her furniture strapped to a wagon and was trying to cut a deal for two carved chairs. Another had spread his wife’s wardrobe out in chests. Eideann crossed there, considering the garments, and his eyes lit up hopefully. She had mainly chosen it because there were not many others in the area. Everyone else, herself included, knew quite well that this was not the time to be dress shopping. 

“Have I ever told you,” Leliana said suddenly beside her, “that I really like the way you wear your hair?” Eideann narrowed her gaze, one hand going up to touch the mismatched length. She looked to Leliana who was watching her with a mask of honesty. Surely the woman could not be serious.

“It is awful,” Eideann said, “but at least it is out of the way.” Leliana reached to touch on the lengths nearest her face, shaking her head.

“At first, it was, but it has grown out a little in a few weeks, and it is very nice now. It suits you. Not like the elaborate hairstyles in Orlais.” She looked to the dresses. “One year, feathers were all the rage, and Lady Elise actually wore live songbirds in her voluminous hair.” Eideann listened to the woman who seemed a little lost in her thoughts. “The chirping was actually quite charming for awhile, but you must realize terrified little birdies often have loose bowels.” She glanced sidelong to Eideann then with her gray eyes shimmering with laughter.

“Dear Maker,” Eideann muttered. She would never understand Orlais. 

“Yes, you can imagine what she looked like at the end of the evening,” the bard smiled slightly. “If you would like, I could even out the ends, make it look nice. I know it worries you sometimes.” Eideann blinked, then sighed. 

“It doesn’t worry me. It just...tells a story about me I don’t want everyone to know,” she admitted. It did. It was easy to tell it had been hacked off in a hurry and with no real care. Leliana nodded, bending to examine a dress of royale sea silk. “I feel so comfortable talking to you, like I could say anything and you wouldn’t judge me.” 

“Wouldn’t I?” Eideann said softly. “Maybe I just keep it to myself.” Leliana laughed softly, a noise that sounded like soft bells.

“You see? You play along with me. Not many would do that.” She sighed, holding up the gown. “This would look lovely on you.” Eideann shook her head, bending to pick up a simpler gown of thick highever weave, a scarlet fabric made from a dye in her homeland. She considered it a moment, then drew a breath, looking to the man selling the gowns. 

It was four hundred silvers, but she needed a gown, and now she had picked it up she could not part with it. It was something of home, something of her, and she swallowed hard before paying him. She also bought a small kit for sewing so alterations could be made. Then she folded the gown carefully into her pack and looked at Leliana.

“I know what you are,” she said quietly. “I know in Orlais that bards are often spies.” The woman’s smile slipped a little.

“Where did you hear this?” she asked, her voice steel now. At Eideann’s pointed look, she sighed. “Not all minstrels are spies. Most are just singers and storytellers.” She hesitated. “But some of them are…are what we call bards.”

“And the bards are the spies,” Eideann said pointedly.

“Bards are minstrels and more. Many bards work alone or in groups. If there is an organizations behind it all, no one knows who they are.” Eideann was watching her. Leliana was trying to hide, her eyes scanning the crowd. “They infiltrate, steal, assassinate. It depends on the bard.” She looked back to Eideann then, and her eyes were cold, something that made the Grey Warden hesitate a little. This was what hid beneath the depths of the lay sister. This was her darkness. It was…emotionless. “In Orlaid, the nobility play a game. In public they smile. In secret they plot and scheme to destroy each other. It is a game completely meaningless to anyone but its players.” And it was a game they apparently played in Ferelden too, with all that had happened recently. Eideann made her way along the stalls in silence before she looked back.

“You seem to know quite a bit about it all,” she said softly. Leliana gave a laugh, but there was no joy in it this time.

“And I should, shouldn’t I, having spent most of my adult life as one.” She shrugged. “Does it really matter what I was? What’s past is past.”

“Is it?” Eideann asked, stopping. Leliana stared a moment, then her chin raised ever so slightly.

“What is past is past.” Eideann stared a moment longer, meeting that unsettling gaze, then nodded and carried along to the next stall. They both knew it was not past entirely, and Leliana had seen as much as Eideann herself had how much she would need her skills in the coming months. Leliana was perhaps the only other person in their camp with an understanding of how dangerous the world of politics could be. Eideann admitted to herself in that moment that if they were to succeed, she needed Leliana to be that bard again. The cloistered sister was no use to her. The bard…

“You!” Someone hissed, and Eideann turned, her hand on her sword before she had even gotten all the way around. Leliana had beaten her, bow strung in an instant. A man with a shock of red hair, braided at the front, and green eyes backed up quickly, putting his hands up. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just…well…you’re a hard woman to find.” Eideann stared at him flatly. The man looked between them again. “Look, I’m Levi. I was a friend of Duncan’s. I have supplies you can take. Just please, come with me.” Eideann considered a moment, then let her blade slide back into its sheath. Leliana lowered her bow. 

“Fine, but if you try anything…”

“No, of course. This way.” He led them through the stalls towards the far end of the village where a wagon pulled by two oxen stood. He kept his hands where she could see them, but the wagon was suspicious. Eideann waited a moment, until he had turned to face them, and then gave him a pointed look.

“Well?”

“My name is Levi Dryden, Levi of the Coins, Levi the Trader. Did Duncan never mention me?” he asked. His voice was a low whine, like the noise a dog made when kicked. 

“Dryden is a black name,” Eideann said quietly. They had been nobility before they were stripped of their titles for treason against the king. Their head of household, Sophia Dryden, had been the last Warden-Commander of Ferelden. 

Levi gave her a flat look.

“Teyrn Cousland’s daughter should be well aware that in politics things are seldom as they seem,” said, and she felt a little ripple of anger go through her. But he was right. She licked her lips.

“Duncan never mentioned you.”

“Really? We’ve known each other for years,” he said sadly. “I’d been working on something for the Wardens, and Duncan had promised to help.” That made Eideann pause. Duncan was good, it appeared, and making promises and terrible at keeping them. She narrowed her eyes. 

“And what was that?” she asked him quietly. 

“As you know, my family’s name is mud. My grandmother Sophia Dryden was the Warden-Commander back when the Wardens were still known as freeloaders, so King Arland took House Dryden’s land and titles and banished the Wardens.”

“And?”

“Hard to say what happened next. After Arland died, there was a civil war, but our family was on the run.” This was all familiar. She had been tutored by an elderly mage called Alduous in history and languages and politics her entire life. This was not news to Eideann. 

“So what favor did you ask Duncan?” she asked suspiciously. 

“I asked for the truth.” There was a string of pride in his voice she recognized and it earned him a little respect. Eideann felt herself relax ever so slightly. “My family reveres Sophia Dryden. She died at the old Warden base of Soldier’s Peak. We want the evidence to clear her name. It won’t restore our lands and titles, but it will restore our honor.” 

“Soldier’s Peak,” Eideann said simply. It was a place lost to time. Levi Dryden knew it as well.

“No one’s been there since Arland’s days, but I found the way back,” he said with a sense of accomplishment. “So I went to Duncan, I did, and said that he could reclaim the old base and my family could reclaim its honor.” A thrill went through her. What sort of secrets would a Warden base hold for her? How helpful would it be for a Blight. There must be lost lore aplenty in those walls, the sort that had died with Duncan and the others that she had no access to so far from all other outposts. Not to mention, aside from the supplies, there was the advantage of its hidden location. Loghain would never find it. He would not even know where to look. 

“What do you need from me?” she asked him, making up her mind. 

“I can get through the tunnels,” Levi admitted,”but the place…they say its haunted, and it will be dangerous for certain. Eideann did not believe in ghosts, so she shook away his wariness. “Will you think on it at least?” he pleaded. She could hear the desperation in his voice. 

“Your family’s faith will be rewarded,” Eideann said at last. “I will help you.” Levi let out a large sigh of relief.

“A thousand blessings on you, Warden.” With that done he let them go through his wagon for supplies. He marked down the location where they could meet him on the map, and then hitched up his wagon again. 

Eideann and Leliana made their way back through the market towards their own camp. That was when Morrigan reappeared with a flash as before, stepping out of an alleyway with a dark look and joining them in the walk back.

“Alfstanna Eremon does not like Loghain, and neither does half the Bannorn,” she reported flatly. “Anything else, my liege?” The sarcasm made Eideann smile.

“No. And thank you, Morrigan. You’ve done me a great favor, and I won’t forget it.” Morrigan gave her an odd look, then sniffed, looking away.

“See that you don’t.”

***

“This is the place.” Eideann started, turning to look back at the normally stoic Sten who was gazing at the ruins of the imperial highway ahead. 

“What place?” she asked him. He grimaced, his eyes sliding to her as if deciding if he wished to say more. Eideann crossed her arms. He gave her his usual grumpy stare, until at last she waved everyone along and stalked back to join him. “Sten, why did the Arishok send the Antaam to Ferelden?”

“To answer a question,” he said flatly. She nodded.

“Well then answer my question. Let me help you.” It caught him off guard, because he stared a moment, then sighed. That ghost of a smile played at his lips. 

“You are not quite so callow as I thought.” 

“Why did I let you out of that cage?” she asked him simply. He shrugged, but the smile did not go away. 

“I have wondered that myself. It is one of the many things I find puzzling about your behavior.” Eideann sighed, looking about. “I caged myself,” Sten said suddenly, and she looked back to him. “A weak mind is a deadly foe as you are no doubt aware.”

“Exactly what happened?” she asked carefully, finally sensing she was getting some answers.

“I came to your land with seven of the Beresaad, my brothers, to seek answers about the Blight. We made our way across the Ferelden countryside without incident, seeing nothing of the threat we were meant to observe. Until the night we camped by Lake Calenhad. Until the night we camped here.” Eideann narrowed her gaze. So the darkspawn had broken the surface near here too? She did not like the sound of that. Sten shook his head, angry at something, perhaps himself. “They came from everywhere: the earth beneath our feet, the air above us, our own shadows harbored the darkspawn. I saw the last of the creatures cut down too late. I fell.” Eideann wet her lips.

“What happened to the other Qunari?” she asked him quietly. Somewhere around here…somewhere nearby. She wished she could sense the darkspawn, but that had not begun to happen yet. Alistair had told her it would take some time. 

“I am told no others survived,” Sten replied quietly. “I don’t know how long I lay on the battlefield among the dead, nor do I know how the farmers found me. I only know when I woke I was no longer among my brothers, and my sword was gone from my hand.” That part seemed to be the worst for him.

“What did you do?” she asked. 

“I searched for it,” he said. “And when that failed I asked my rescuers what had become of it.” 

“And then?” She already knew the answer, but to hear him say it solidified it into truth. 

“I killed them.” There was a pause between them as she surveyed him, and then he broke the silence, suddenly desperate to explain this to her, to make her see. “I did. I knew they didn’t have the blade. They had no reason to lie to me. I panicked. Unthinking, I struck them down. I know I cannot justify what I have done. My honor is forfeit.”

“All this over a sword,” she said quietly, but knew that sometimes objects were more than simple tools. She thought of the Cousland blade at her back then. Sten gave her a pained look.

“That sword was made for my hand alone. I have carried it since the day I was set into the Beresaad. I was to die wielding it for my people. Even if I could cross Ferelden and Tevinter unarmed and alone to bring my report to the Arishok, I would be slain on sight by the antaam. They would know me as soulless, a deserter. No soldier would cast aside his blade while he drew breath.” Eideann considered the man before her, tall and imposing, and suddenly so desperate, and then she licked her lips.

“So this place is where you fought the darkspawn?” She asked, but she did not wait for his answer. “We will find it.” He was looking at her, suddenly softer than she had seen him, and then he drew a breath.

“Perhaps those words are empty,” he told her, “but thank you all the same.” She nodded, but she also knew it appeared unlikely they would find the sword. Either way, she recognized he felt guilt enough for his crimes. He had told her as much when he admitted to waiting days to be taken into custody. And she had no doubt if he wished it he could have broken out of the cage before she had come along. 

She looked up the road towards the town of Crestwood, which was full of refugees like the others. She wondered if there would be news in the town. A few drops of rain cemented her decision, and she directed everyone towards the inn with the intention of spending good Cousland coin on a roof before pursuing the matter of the tower. She had to be careful here, because the mages had a large presence in Crestwood, being the port to the tower as it was. She was well aware that if the senior mage Uldred from Ostagar had managed to sway the Tower, they would find no welcome.

It was hard enough to hide her own identity on the road. But she found, upon entering Crestwood, that it was nearly impossible to hide the fact they were Grey Wardens, despite the fact they had left Alistair’s armor hidden in Bodahn’s wagon. They had spread word of the Blight and the horde in the villages by accepting the title, and it was under that title they had convinced so many to leave. But a great many of them had ended up here at Crestwood, and they were recognized easily.

“That’s them. The Grey Wardens! They’re here!” someone said as they approached the town center. Eideann sighed, exchanging looks with Alistair. Shale, imposing in the rain, stomped up beside them.

“Shall I squash it?” the golem asked simply. 

“What? No! Shale, don’t squash anyone!” Eideann demanded. Sometimes the golem was a little overzealous in fixing problems, she had learned on the road. Like when it had squished a chicken for clucking too loudly, or a nug that was in their camp that Eideann had been planning on capturing for food until there was nothing left but a smear on the ground. A crowd was beginning to gather now.

“You, are you really Grey Wardens?” a middle-aged man asked in a weary voice. “I…I’m the Mayor, Gregory Dedrick. Can I have a word?” Since their cover was blown and the entire town seemed liable to gather, Eideann nodded, then followed the old man up some steps towards his round house. 

Within it was simple but cozy. Shale had to wait outside by the door because it wouldn’t fit, but everyone else filed into the room. The Mayor waited a moment, then considered them.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “They’re eating all the food. Some of them have come as far as the villages along the Wilds. I haven’t the space to keep them. With the Civil War and all the Keep has been occupied by Bannorn soldiers. And with the trouble at the Tower…”

“There’s trouble at the Tower?” Alistair cut him off. “What trouble?”

“They say the Mages are all going mad, turning into monsters. The Templars have closed the ferry. People need healing but the Mages can’t help. I think…I think some of the refugees are infected.”

“Infected?” Eideann said darkly. “With the Blight?” 

“Aye. I don’t know what to do. They’ll get the others ill.” 

“Save as many as you can. Quarantine them,” Eideann said quietly. “Crestwood is surrounded by a network of caves. Maybe these can provide shelter. There must be smugglers outposts in the hills where supplies might be found. This is the River Dane where it feeds into Lake Calenhad for the Maker’s sake.” Alistair was looking at her with surprise, probably because she was being practical about smugglers.

“Can’t you help?”

“Bann Alfstanna rules here. She must be able to help you somehow.” Eideann heard the note of desperation in her voice and willed it away. “It is her responsibility to assist her citizens.”

“No one has heard from the city of Waking Sea since Highever fell,” the Mayor told her. “They say she’s rallied her archers and gone to ground in case Amaranthine moves on Waking Sea next. She’s got her hands full ferrying refugees northward as it is.” Eideann felt her heart fall and she sank back, leaning against the wall and running her hand into her short hair with a frustrated sigh. The others were watching her, like she would make the choice, like she would lead them somewhere where it would be better, like she could save these people. She had no ideas. She was out of ideas.

“There is a flower found in marshy land. Perhaps it grows along the Lake? It’s white with a red center. It helps treat the Blight sometimes, at least in mabari. It may have a similar effect for people,” she suggested, but it was a meager hope. If that was a cure for the Blight everyone would know about it and it would not be so deadly. There was no cure for the Blight. None. There really was only one option. “Help all you can,” she told him, then looked to Alistair. “Can you take the others to the shore, see if you can find out what is happening at the Tower. I will do what I can for the Mayor.” It was a short dismissal, and her companions were suspicious, she knew. But Alistair nodded and turned away. The Mayor was looking at her with hooded eyes. He also knew why she had sent the others away.

“Do as much as you can to help them,” she said quietly when the door was again closed. “But I must tell you. The darkspawn have been sighted in the area. I have reason to believe they may have broken through to the surface near here.” The Mayor grimaced, then nodded.

“You’re right about the tunnels,” he told her. “One of the lads a few weeks back told me they connect to an old Deep Roads outpost further in.” 

“Send the Blighted there,” Eideann said, hating how cold her voice was. “Keep them separate from the healthy ones, which you must send along to Waking Sea as soon as you can. Tell them to flee northward, into the Free Marches if possible.”

“Can’t you stop the Blight?” the Mayor asked in a halting voice.

“I intend to try, Mr. Dedrick,” Eideann told him. “But there are only two of us in Ferelden, and even I cannot cure the Blighted. We need an army to face the darkspawn. If anyone wants to fight, send them to Redcliffe where we can contact them. All others must get out of the way.” The Mayor looked like he might cry. 

“So the sick ones…”

“You will send them into the caves.”

“But that is where the darkspawn might be coming from.”

“They are already sick. They will already become ghouls. And ghouls serve the darkspawn. I cannot stop it,” Eideann told him. He shook his head, so she crossed to him, gripping him by the shoulders and forcing him to meet her fierce gaze. “Listen to me. No, listen!” she demanded, and he stared at her. “If the darkspawn break the surface here, Ferelden will be lost. You must stop them, and you must save as many as you can. When the time comes, you will go to the dam, and you will flood this shore and the caves.” The Mayor wilted.

“No. No, I can’t…all those people,” he moaned, breaking away from her and trying to hide his face in his hands. “They’ll all die.”

“Everyone will die if you do not,” Eideann said. “Sometimes, a few people die so that many more can live. The Blighted can die stopping the darkspawn, or they can live as ghouls in service to the very beasts we must stop to save our world. Which would you prefer, Mayor. Would you rather be a slave to those creatures, or dead?” He was watching her then, his eyes like sharp coal. And she knew he was judging her for the decisions she had just made.

“You are a cruel woman,” he finally said.

“I have to be,” she told him. “Tell no one of this plan, save those you need to ensure it can be done. And if the flower works, and I pray to the Maker it does, then save them if you can. But you cannot let this entire town be swallowed by the Blight, Mr. Dedrick.” He narrowed his gaze, but said nothing, and at last he gave a slow nod. She had no other choice. Neither did he. And she hated it.

“Then I must go. And if anyone asks, the Grey Wardens have already moved on,” she instructed. He nodded again at that, but he would not look at her now.

“The Tower,” he told her quietly as she reached for the door, “is a lost cause, milady. You’ll find no help for the Blight there. Only monsters.” Eideann paused a moment, then looked back at him.

“Our world is full of monsters, Mr. Dedrick. You and I among them. And my job is to face monsters, or die trying.” And then she opened the door and left him with the heavy weight of commanding his town as he ought. 

***

He heard a scream and jolted awake from unsettled sleep. It was horrible, but he was glad enough of the reprieve from the demons that still walked the Fade. It did nothing to stop the demons that walked the real world, however, and the shimmering cage of light that burned to touch (he had tried) would not go away.

The scream came from up above. 

Sometimes they took him up there, where the sting of blood magic coated everything, and where the feeling of having people bore into your mind became so horrible he could only scream and scream himself, clinging to anything that could keep the demons at bay. He was always weak, always shaking, desperate, as the others had been.

At first they had been subjected to torture at the hands of demons and blood mages alike, a punishment for perceived wrongs done against all mages in the name of all Templars, a scapegoat each and every one. 

That had broken the newest Templar then and there. He had been swallowed whole by demonic possession, and then drained dry of blood as the Mages wove their wicked magic. Cullen had no idea what they were doing, and he no longer cared.

Nothing was real.

The second knight had fallen to something worse that a demon and torture. It had been a few weeks since their capture, and lyrium withdrawal had left them broken men now. Desperate men. Men who would do anything to end the endless ache of withdrawal, the feeling of falling, the dry throat, dry skin, uncontrollable shaking, and the feeling that their minds were going inside out with madness.

“The mages need lyrium to do magic,” one of the older Templars had said one day, a wild look in his glassy eyes. Cullen had gotten out of the way pretty quickly when he heard that. “But they can do magic with blood.” He was eyeing them up, one by one, until at last he settled on a young recruit sitting nearest to him who had not even taken vows yet. Clean, the boy was, never touched lyrium in his life. Not yet. And now never would.

The Knight was on him in an instant, ripping at his face with nails that had grown too long in the weeks in that cage. He had torn at him, snarling, and bitten him, and then he had gouged out an eye. Cullen and the others had been unable to stop him in time. When the eldest Knight there had finally had the strength to pull the crazed madman from the recruit and snap his neck with atrophied hands, the boy was already bleeding out on the floor, and there was nothing to do to stop him.

The Mages did not care. They laughed and pointed. And they used the recruit’s blood to murder the elderly Knight the next day, striking him down with darkness and demonic power, and laughing all the while.

Cullen was the only one left now. And with him they tried a different tactic.

She was there now, standing opposite him in the cage of light. Sometimes it was his mother there, or his sister. Sometimes it was the Knight Commander, or even the First Enchanter, though that had been a foolish ploy. He would never trust a Mage again. 

No, this time it was her, watching him. Her eyes were like pools of clear water, deep and settled. Her red hair fell in waves down her back and about her shoulders, soft and perfect. Too perfect. Her lips shone slightly in the light, slightly parted, and he wanted…he wanted…

He forced himself to look away.

“Be gone,” he said, and she gave a gentle laugh, clear and pretty, full of music and magic and joy. 

“Cullen, it’s me.” 

“You are not her. You could never be her,” he said, forcing himself back into the corner of his cage. Transfigurations rose in the back of his head and he put voice to it because he had no other defense. “O Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places.” 

“You are one of the wicked,” said Solona. She had crossed to him and stood before him now, clad in sheer silk of warm yellow and blue. “You think I did not notice how you looked at me a little too long? How your eyes followed me in the halls? How in your dreams you saw me and desired? What Maker comes to those like you? But I have come, and we do not need the Maker between us, Ser Knight.” She bent then to take his head in her hands and draw him to her.

Her kiss was fire, burning and painful. And he needed more, wanted more. When she sank into his lap, bending to kiss him more, he felt his hands come about her of their own volition.

This wasn’t her. He pushed, but she kissed him again and he felt the power gone from him.

“Hush, my Knight,” she whispered, running her fingers into his blond hair. “We are alone now. We can have all we wanted.” 

They were suddenly somewhere else. A chamber he had never seen before, decorated with silk and mahogany and thick carpets with intricate designs. There was a fire that burned in a nearby hearth, and he felt the heat of it. He felt the warmth. 

He wore only his Templar robes, and they were loose about him. Solona wore a green nightdress, and her hair shone in the firelight, red like blood or passion. She kissed him again, her hands slipping inside his loose robe, and he let a moan escape him at her touch.

_No! It isn’t real!_

He shoved her away, and the scene vanished, as did Solona, until a twisted demon of Desire stood where she had been, watching him with eerie eyes.

“One day,” it told him, quiet and cold. “One day, my Knight, I shall have you. It is, after all, what you desire.” And then the demon vanished. Cullen curled up, frustration and fear smothering him, and felt hot tears spill down his cheeks. 

“Yet all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide,” he whispered, over and over and over, and begging with all his soul he could believe it. His prayers were only met with silence.

***

“We need to get to the Tower!” Alistair said angrily, glaring at the Templar who was standing watch on the ferry. 

“I have strict orders not to let anyone pass,” the reedy man said in reply, arms crossed. Alistair glared, wishing Eideann were here with her ability to meld people to her will. Instead, he crossed his arms back.

“I am a Grey Warden,” he said with all the authority he could muster. That was not much. He was no good at this bossy business. He never had been. “I seek the assistance of the mages.” The Templar quirked his eyebrow at them, considering the eclectic party at Alistair’s back. 

“Oh, you’re a Grey Warden, are you?” he asked skeptically. “Prove it.” Where all Templars this difficult? He was lucky Duncan had recruited him in time.

“Prove it?” he asked with umbrage. How was one supposed to prove they were a Grey Warden? No one claimed to be a Grey Warden just because they wanted to. Especially not with the bounty on their heads under Loghain’s decree. 

“Kill some darkspawn,” the Templar suggested. “Let’s see some righteous Grey Wardening.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alistair said darkly. Grey Wardening? When had his life’s work become a simple verb?

“I knew it!” the man said. His triumphant tone was irking. “I bet you can’t even sense them!” 

“I can’t sense any now because there aren’t any here,” Alistair said flatly, which was true, though earlier he had thought maybe there was something. Something. He pushed the thought aside for the moment. He did not easily lose his temper but this was ridiculous. “Look, there must be something we can work out.” The Templar considered him a moment, then glanced over his shoulder.

“That dark-eyed temptress over there,” he said pointing back over Alistair’s shoulder. He turned and noticed the man meant Morrigan who was watching them with arched brows. Morrigan?! Surely not. “Surely the tower would be far too dull for her.” Obviously he had no idea Morrigan was an apostate likely to rip off his skin and wear it as a cape either. The Templar looked away, scratching at his head awkwardly. “It gets a little lonely out here sometimes…and you know, you could just leave her with me --“ He was actually suggesting Alistair pimp out Morrigan in exchange for a ferry trip across the Lake to the Tower. 

Morrigan came to stand beside him, a sultry smirk on her face. 

“Oh, excellent,” she purred. “I have been hoping for new prey.”

“Prey?” The Templar beat Alistair to it, but both were staring at her now. Morrigan smiled more, her yellow eyes sliding to Alistair.

“T’will take but a moment. Perhaps you should go aboard the vessel to prepare while we are away. We must row ourselves across.” She looked to the Templar. “I fear the lad will no longer have the use of his limbs…or his eyes, once I am done with him.” Alistair caught himself staring. The Templar shifted nervously.

“I…err…maybe I should – “ 

“Wonderful!” Morrigan said. “I can sense his terror. Oh, that will make the loving all the sweeter.” 

“You’re creepy,” Alistair told her flatly, and she shot him a wry smile.

“So, you said you wanted to get across? Maybe we should go now. Right now. NOW,” the Templar demanded. 

“Shale has to wait here,” came the soft voice of Eideann as she joined them, coming down the embankment. “Sorry, Shale, but you will sink the boat.” 

“It is a piddly little thing,” Shale replied simply. Eideann looked to them all. “Morrigan, you shall stay as well, just to be safe.”

“I do not need looking after!” Morrigan hissed.

“I know that. I’m being cautious. See if you can do anything with these.” She dug through her pack for the flowers, now wilted, she had collected with Daveth in Ostagar. Alistair recognized them as the ones that helped mabari with the taint. “Also, keep an eye out for trouble. Too many people know us here.” 

“And I?” Sten asked darkly. 

“I found the location of a few armor and weapon merchants. I thought you may want to check there for your sword first,” Eideann said quietly, pointing the direction to him. Sten nodded, then disappeared back up the hill into the town. “The rest of you are with me.” Angus gave a whine and she nodded. “And you,” she said. The hound hardly ever left her side, but he had taken to following Alistair about of late. He was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He looked back to the Templar.

“We’re ready,” he told the man, and then helped Leliana and Eideann down into the boat before stepping down himself.

The journey was short and uneventful, but he could not brush off a sense of foreboding as they neared Kinloch Hold. The tower was imposing enough, and the way it glowed in the moonlight made it seem a shard of shattered bone thrust high into the sky. The only sound was of the water slowly sloshing against the side of the boat. Lake Calenhad was so deep full ships could disappear beneath its surface, and the thought did nothing to put him at ease.

This was where he could have lived, if things had been differently. This was where the Revered Mother had wanted him to end up. He was glad to be a Grey Warden. He did not envy the position of the Templars here. 

He had only spent a short amount of time in the tower, as a young recruit, a few weeks before Duncan came to take him away. He had been there to witness a Harrowing. It was horrible. The girl they had tested had not survived the ordeal. The Templars had been forced to end the whole thing quickly. And it had put Alistair off being a Templar ever since. To be going back to Kinloch Hold now, he felt that shadow on him even then.

Within the Tower, everything was chaos. Templars were pacing the foyer, armed to the teeth, and the elderly Knight Commander was directing them with a weary, grim countenance. Alistair felt a sense of unease. The doors into the Tower proper were closed.

“The doors are shut,” he said to Eideann. “Are they keeping people out, or in?” She gave him a cool look, and he felt no better for her concern either. 

“No we wait, and pray,” the Knight Commander murmured to himself, then caught sight of them and shook his head, crossing to intercept them. 

“What’s going on here?” Eideann asked him with that authoritative voice she used when she wanted immediate answers.

“We’re dealing with a very delicate situation,” the Commander said. Greagoir his name was, Alistair suddenly remembered. “You must leave for your own safety.” Eideann shook her head.

“I seek the mages to help defeat the darkspawn,” she said simply. “I won’t leave until I have them.”

“You’ll find no allies here,” Knight-Commander Greagoir said sharply. “The Templars can spare no men and the mages are besieged.” He glanced then to Alistair and a flicker of recognition lit in his eyes. “I will speak plainly here. The Tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons run rampant. The Circle is lost. The Tower has fallen.” Eideann was pondering it, Alistair knew, but he himself tried to force the thought of the girl at her Harrowing away. He could not. 

“How did this happen?” Eideann asked. Greagoir grimaced, glancing to her again.

“We don’t know. We saw only demons hunting mages and Templars alike,” he said. “I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee.” 

“Well what can I do to help?” she asked fiercely. Alistair had learned by now that that determination meant she still thought there was something to gain here. She still thought there were people in there she could save. Maybe there were. But maybe there were not. 

“I have sent word to Denerim calling for the Right of Annulment,” Greagoir told them in a soft voice. Eideann looked confused, but Alistair stiffened. The Right of Annulment was the systemic culling of an entire Circle at the Chantry’s behest. It was mass murder, genocide even, and wrong. Innocents and abominations alike were slaughtered. It was a last resort.

“What good would that do?!” Eideann hissed hotly. 

“The mages are probably already dead,” Alistair said quietly, drawing her attention. “Any Abominations remaining in there must be dealt with no matter what.” Greagoir gave him a soft look, then turned back to Eideann.

“The situation is dire. There is no alternative – everything in the Tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again.” Eideann shook her head.

“Of course you would say that. You’re a Templar,” she said darkly, and Alistair felt a ripple of impatience. She was partly speaking to him too. “The Mages are not defenseless. Some must still live.” Greagoir, with infinite patience, sighed.

“If any are still alive, the Maker himself has shielded them. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find nothing.” Eideann glared at him, hands on her hips now.

“Yes, better to let survivors die than do you job and fight Abominations,” she snapped angrily. “I will look for survivors then.” Had he heard her correctly? She was going to go into the Tower and seek out mages herself? Did she have any idea what she was suggesting? Alistair stared at her.

“I assure you, an Abomination is nothing to trifle with.” Eideann shook her head, eyes that fierce fire again. 

“Abominations cannot stand against me.” Apparently not any Abomination, created my magic and demons or otherwise. She said it with all the force of Andraste on her pyre. Maker’s blood. They were really going to do this. 

“A word of caution,” Greagoir sighed. “Once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe.” 

“We have an agreement then,” Eideann said simply, and stalked past him. Alistair watched her a moment, then slowly crossed to join her after exchanging a single look with Greagoir.

“Good luck, recruit,” the Knight Commander said to him, but it was full of concern and hopelessness. Alistair shook his head.

“We will do what we can,” he told the man. And he meant it. Eideann had gotten them into this mess, and if there were Mages to be saved, he would do what he could to protect them. But if there were none, they would have to kill every Abomination in the Tower. 

It was going to be a long night. In the distance, he thought he could hear someone laughing at him. The Maker perhaps for thinking he could avoid being a Templar. 

“As I recall from my time as a Templar,” he told Eideann flatly as the great doors opened, “locking the door and throwing away the key was the Templar ‘Plan B’.” She just fixed him with a look.

“I hate Tevinter towers,” she said simply. And there was that as well.

Maker, just once, he would like to do something that wasn’t so damn complicated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynne meets the Grey Wardens and convinces them to help her clear the tower; the Grey Wardens are trapped in the Sloth demon's nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.

There was no time be tired. She could feel it in her bones, the same sort of ache that she sometimes felt on chilly days when it was going to rain now she was older. Her hip was sore, and her heart still felt unsteady in her chest, beating. But she calmly spun her staff, preparing the spell she needed with decades of practice. It blossomed within her like a fire, and she let it go, allowing it to slip through her fingers. The lyrium core of her staff buzzed beneath her hand. Something else hummed within her. 

The spell exploded outward, battering down at the Rage Demon that had slipped through her barrier. The demon roared, then staggered, before finally being forced back into the fade. 

She stood up, lowering her staff and making sure the children were alright.

Footsteps at the doorway disturbed her. She looked back.

It was not the Templars as she had expected, but three other people: the first was a man bearing a shield with all the hallmarks of Templar training. The other two were women, one armed with a bow and the other with a pair of mismatched swords. The one with the swords had short blonde hair and eyes the color of rain. A flickered of recognition went through Wynne. She knew that woman. 

She placed the face in an instant then. Ostagar, near the King’s Camp. The woman had been with the Warden-Commander Duncan when he had returned from the north on the eve of battle. She had thought all the Grey Wardens had fallen in the fighting. 

“You,” she said softly. The woman took a step forward, and Wynne reacted. “No! Come no further! Grey Warden or no I will strike you down where you stand!” How had they gotten through the door? The Templars would not have just opened it. This had to be a trick.

“I am not here to fight,” the woman said in a quiet voice, her rainy eyes slipping to the children gathered nearby. 

“What are you doing here, then?” Wynne demanded, putting herself between them and the children under her protection. Petra was a full-fledged, Harrowed mage, but Kinnon and Keili were apprentices still, and the children barely even that. She had learned also not to trust, from her own experiences with magic and from the betrayal at Ostagar. 

She did not want to think about Ostagar.

“I came here seeking the aid of the mages,” the woman told her, keeping her distance and never wavering. 

“And you were told the Circle was in no shape to help you, I suppose. So why did the Templars let you in?” She lowered her staff slightly. If the woman was a demon, she was not the sort to win through violence but cunning, and a staff was little enough help in a game of wits. “Do they plan to attack the Tower now?” The woman stepped forward a little, but her companions stayed back, including the warhound that was at her heel. 

“No,” she said simply. “They are waiting for reinforcements.” Wynne sighed at the confirmation of bad news, finally hooking her staff over her shoulder across her back on its strap. She shook her head.

“So Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope,” she lamented. “He probably thinks we are all dead.” She knew what that meant, and suddenly was forced to reconsider what options were available. The Grey Warden was here, it was true, and not a demon. She was certain of it now. A demon would have tried to manipulate her. All this Grey Warden had done was deliver the news she had already suspected was coming when she found the doors shut. “They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them.” The woman looked at her then, and met her eyes. There was a fierce fire in her.

“There are children here with you.” 

“I am Wynne, mage of the Circle, and they are under my protection,” she said in reply.

“Eideann. And this is Alistair and Leliana,” the woman said.

“I remember you from Ostagar,” Wynne nodded. “I thought at first…but no, you are really here.” 

“I am here. And I will help you,” Eideann told her, and Wynne wanted to believe her. “How did this happen?” Wynne’s eyes narrowed.

“Suffice it to say we had something of a revolt on our hands, led by a mage named Uldred. When he returned from the battle at Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. As you can see, it didn’t work out as he had planned.” She crossed her arms. The things in the chambers upstairs... Irving had told her to run, to protect the children, and so she had. She had barely managed to save Petra. So many of the other mages were Abominations or worse. It had been all she could to do seal the doorway behind them leading to the library. Even that was weakening. If they did not do something quickly… “I don’t know what became of Uldred, but I am certain all this is his doing. I will not lose the Circle to one man’s pride and stupidity.” A ripple of anger went through her, and then settled quietly as the gentle humming came up from within again. 

That soft hum, the first thing she knew when she awoke from death, Petra hovering over her. 

“We waste time here when there are Abominations to kill,” Eideann said, her eyes going dark. Wynne felt a wash of relief that made the humming stronger. 

“If you are here to kill Abominations, let me help you,” she insisted. The woman did not protest. She nodded and then crossed to examine the barrier Wynne had erected to keep out the demons. Her eyes shone a little in the odd light when she glanced back. “Petra, Kinnon, look after the others. I will be back soon,” she told the group. Petra gave her a narrow-eyed stare.

“Wynne, are you sure you’re alright? You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along,” she suggested. Wynne had looked over Petra since she was a little girl first brought to the tower. The elderly mage shook her head.

“The others need your protection more. I will be alright,” Wynne assured her. “Stay here with them…keep them safe and calm.” Staying calm was the most important, with the Veil so thin. It could easily attract more demons if the children panicked, and they were ripe for possession if not properly looked after. They did not have the skills to keep themselves from harm. 

Eideann considered them a moment, then made some motion to the dog at her side. The creature crossed to the nearest of the children and licked the boy’s hand. Then he gave a silly dog-grin and sat down as guard. Wynne gave a slight smile, feeling a bit better for leaving them all, and glanced to Eideann and her companions then before turning her attention to the barrier. “I am somewhat amazed at myself for having kept it in place this long,” she admitted. For a moment her voice felt elderly and worn. She was tired. So tired.

“You did what you had to do, Wynne,” the Grey Warden said quietly. 

“It made me very weary at times, but I had to stay strong to keep us safe.” There was something in the way that girl nodded that made Wynne believe she knew exactly what the mage meant. “Are you ready?” She smiled slightly, but there was no mirth in her. 

“Yes.” 

Abominations were mages taken over by demons still within the Fade, twisted and malformed by the darkness that corrupts their soul. Spirits and demons were often frightening, regardless of whether they were in the Fade or about in the world, but a lifetime of study had fortified Wynne against them. These Grey Wardens, however, had no such training, and Wynne hesitated at first to ask them to face the monsters with her. But when she saw the look in Eideann’s eyes, when she heard Leliana murmuring the Chant of Light with the skill of a Chantry adept, and when she recalled again the way Alistair held his shield with Templar training, she knew that they would stand against anything, from the Fade or otherwise. Grey Wardens battled the darkspawn, twisted horrible creatures themselves. And the darkspawn and the Fade were connected, so the Chantry said. 

Eideann lead the way, and so Wynne took a more passive role after letting down her barrier. Her primary spells were always favoring healing magic, and the odd humming presence seemed to like such spells, lending strength to her when she cast them, so she stayed back with the archer Leliana and let the Templar boy and the fierce Grey Warden dive in. 

She was glad she could not recognize the humans that had become the Abominations that stalked the Tower. She did not want to know which had become so twisted. A great many of the mages had. The ones who had not been possessed were hiding, or else were slain in the halls. The once luxurious apartments of the upper levels were covered in blood and tears.

Eideann, however, wanted to learn more of what had happened. She checked the bodies of the dead for any sign as to what went on, and a paper trail began to form. The complex inner workings of the Circle fraternities began to emerge as they felled the demons before them, a trail of secrets written on scraps of paper and passed along where the Templars would not see. Uldred had promised them freedom. Uldred, leader of the Libertarians seeking to disconnect from the Chantry, had made a deal with Loghain Mac Tir. That made Wynne very angry, enough that the humming within her grew so intense she felt dizzy before she could calm down.

The Grey Warden girl did not seem surprised by the information. She simply pocketed the notes with a grim expression and pressed onward, sword-blades dripping with blood.

The library was a tattered mess. Books were flung from their upended shelves, and dead bodies lay in piles of torn papers and scattered notes. The student desks were upside down or shattered, missing legs in some cases. And the Abominations that stalked the corridors occasionally exploded in bursts of fire and scorching heat, setting further shelves aflame and scattering the mess all over again. 

The Circle had rebelled against the yolk of the Chantry, a rebellion the likes of which had not been seen in centuries. Ferelden’s Kinloch Hold was one of the better Circles, where Templars and Mages actually spoke, interacted, and where Senior Mages were often allowed to continue research beyond the Tower walls. Even so, the oppression had been felt here, the same as everywhere, and in the wake of the incident with the blood mage apprentice prior to Ostagar, things had been stricter. It would not have taken long for Uldred to sow the seeds of discord. But to have torn the Veil so badly, to have done so much damage…Wynne hated to think on what it would take to make amends.

The second floor was the mage’s quarters, and it was there they found the first of the Tranquil. Those mages deemed too unstable to contain their magic were stripped of their abilities and emotions by searing their connection to the Fade. This left them awkwardly emotionless, and the practice itself was often a matter of intense and emotional debate. But it kept them safe from demons, and this meant they were still there on the second floor, gathered in the stock room where they often worked at cataloguing artifacts or performing rune-crafting to sell at the outposts that funded the Circle. Owain, one of the Tranquil, had been in charge of the stockroom for magical artifacts and ingredients. He was standing in his usual place, seemingly unbothered by all that was around him. Wynne let out a sigh of relief to see him alive.

“Please refrain from going into the stockroom,” he said as they approached, as if it were any normal day. Eideann narrowed her eyes to consider the man, but otherwise they did as asked. “It is a mess,” he explained, “and I have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen.” 

“What are you doing here?” Leliana asked quietly. There was concern in her voice, and Wynne was grateful for that. She had known Owain before he was made Tranquil, a small boy, always failing at casting his spells, and often coming to sit in the Chantry after bad dreams in the Fade haunted him. He had chosen Tranquility himself, afraid of facing the Harrowing, the demons. 

“I was trying to tidy up,” he told them. “But there was little I could do.” Eideann raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you cleaning at a time like this?” Alistair asked him, shaking his head. Owain just fixed him with a look.

“The stockroom is my responsibility. I must keep it clean,” he said again. “I tried to leave when things got quiet. That was when I encountered the barrier. Finding no other way out, I returned to work.” Wynne realized he meant her barrier, the one she had erected to protect the children.

“Owain,” she said despairingly. “You should have said something! I would have opened the door for you.” He just shook his head.

“The stockroom is familiar,” he said. “I prefer to be here.” Wynne wondered if the Tranquil really were as emotionless as they appeared. After all, a preference was an opinion, a preference was a want, a selection of a choice. Surely there was something behind that.

“It seems safe enough for now,” Eideann admitted quietly. Indeed the Tower here was almost deathly silent. All the killing was long ended. The demons were above or about. 

It had been some weeks since the uprising. Wynne had been feeding the children with emergency supplies she and Petra had discovered within the stockrooms in the chambers below the Tower. Owain’s stockroom would have been enough to feed him. Others above had access to the kitchens. Even so, how many had died simply from an inability to get food? She dispelled the thought a little angrily, repressing the unsettled worry. The upper chambers had no such supplies.

“I would prefer not to die,” Owain admitted simply. “I would prefer if the Tower returned to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all.” Niall was one of the upper level mages, on course to join the Senior Mages before long. He was not the most talented mage, but he had a good head for sense when he was not arguing they should isolate themselves from the world entirely because of their magic. 

“What’s this Niall trying to do?” Eideann asked Owain. He shrugged.

“I do not know. But he came here with several others and took the Litany of Adralla.” Wynne sniffed.

“But that protects from mind domination. Is blood magic at work here?” she asked, feeling her heart sink. She knew that it took blood magic to summon demons, but she had hoped it was only a tear in the Veil that had allowed them in, an accident, or a single event. The Veil was always weak in the Tower anyway, with so many mages and so many spells. An accident had been believable. To think it was all intentionally done, and to believe that more could easily be summoned by malevolent mages, was almost too much. She narrowed her eyes. “Niall was in the meeting,” she told the Grey Wardens. “He would know. Blood magic…I was afraid of this.”

“How is it worse?” Eideann asked simply, and Wynne recognized the look of someone pondering their options.

“Blood magic could control us too,” she informed them. “Who knows what could happen then? We should find Niall. The Litany will give us a fighting chance against any blood mages we encounter.”

“I wish you luck,” Owain said in his toneless voice. “Perhaps this will be over soon and things will return to the way they were.” Wynne certainly hoped so, but she knew it would be a long time before things could be back to normal again. The damage done was too great.

“Stay safe, Owain,” she told him softly. 

“Goodbye,” came the flat reply. Wynne directed them along the corridor to the outer hall, where the small spell-tome library stood. She recalled busy apprentices whiling away the hours there. She was also surprised to see it was not empty.

Behind a row of bookcases were three mages so deep in discussion that Leliana and Eideann hushed them to listen in. 

“What are we doing? Have you thought about it?” a woman was saying. Obviously there had been a breakdown in direction after the Tower was overrun with demons. Even the blood mages were confused.

“Quiet, both of you!” one of them suddenly hissed. “I think I heard something. Keep your eyes open…” Leliana’s arrow pierced one in an instance, and Eideann was on the other like lightning. Alistair knocked the third, the woman, to the ground with his shield, and the heavy force of a smite – Wynne had no idea he could do that – forced the magic from the air like being winded. She felt the repercussions herself and took a step back, clutching her chest and drawing a deep breath. It had not been meant for her, but it was certainly a powerful version of the Templar staple if she was effected when standing behind him and several paces back. He looked back to her and she nodded the affirmation. She would be fine. 

The blood mage was a woman she recognized as an apprentice, Genevieve was her name. Or something to that effect. She lay where Alistair had smote her down, peering up at them with wide eyes.

“Please,” she begged. “Please don’t kill me.” Eideann was the one who stood before her.

“The people you killed didn’t want to die either,” she said softly, a hint of steel to her voice. Genevieve looked desperately between them all.

“I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I didn’t mean for this death and destruction,” she tried. “We were just trying to free ourselves.” 

Wynne thought of the young apprentice when she had first arrived at the tower, strawberry hair shining in the Circle light, coming to Petra to have it braided. It still was braided, pinned back behind her head. The joy was gone from her open eyes, replaced only by sorrow. But whatever she felt, this was wrong. 

“Uldred told us that the Circle would support Loghain,” Genevieve insisted, “and Loghain would help us be free of the Chantry.” She fixed Eideann with those large eyes now. “You don’t know what it was like living here. The Templars watching…always watching.” 

“What you’ve done,” Eideann said in a voice of wisdom and restraint, “will make things worse for future mages.” There was sympathy there, and sadness, and also a trickle of anger for the repercussions. Wynne had learned long ago to listen to the sound of emotions in voices. It had helped her to understand people over the years, made her wiser. She heard all this and more in Eideann’s tone. 

“We thought someone always has to take the first step…force a change,” Genevieve said bitterly, “no matter the cost.”

“Nothing,” Wynne said, barely reining in her anger, “is worth what you’ve done to this place.” There were so many dead, so many lost. The Circle would never be the same again. Genevieve gave her a dark, twisted look, like she wanted to lash out but had chosen instead to restrain herself. 

“Now,” she said, her bitter tone stronger now, “Uldred’s gone mad, and we are scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs.” Eideann narrowed her eyes. Genevieve broke eye contact to stare at the floor. “I would like a chance to atone for what I have done. Please, if you spare me, I could escape and seek penance at the Chantry.” Alistair made a mocking scoffing noise. 

“You know they’ll never take you. They’re very picky about who they let in,” he told her a little mercilessly. “Harlots, murderers, yes. Maleficarum, oh no…”

“Your comments betray your ignorance, Alistair,” came the voice of Leliana. Wynne was surprised to hear the accent of Orlais on her voice. She had not picked up on it when the girl was whispering the Chant earlier, or when she had spoken to Owain. “The Chantry accepts all, regardless of what they’ve done.” Alistair raised an eyebrow in return, shaking his head.

“Well, it seems you’re familiar with a whole other Chantry, because the one I know wouldn’t hesitate to shove a sword of mercy right through her heart,” he replied darkly. Eideann crossed her arms.

“Enough,” she said quietly, and both of them looked to her, suddenly back alert and at attention. It was so quick, so final, that Wynne found herself focusing again, and she had not been distracted.

“I just want my life,” Genevieve said, tears standing in her eyes.

“You have no right to ask me anything after the horrors that have happened here. I will not judge you for your magic,” the Grey Warden said slowly. “I cannot. But I will judge you for the lives you have stolen away and the lives that will still be lost because of the choices you have made. We are all beholden to our choices. Your death will be your penance.” Genevieve tried to rise, panicking, and she held up a bloodied hand to utter a spell.

Wynne’s spell found her first, and Genevieve slipped from the world. Eideann glanced back to Wynne, her eyes a question. Wynne just nodded. She had to do it herself. Enough blood was spilled here, and the Grey Wardens were not judges. Wynne was the Senior Mage. It was she who would do what must be done. 

There were a few more Abominations locked away within the chambers of the second floor where the mages once dwelled within. The only other survivor they found was a cowardly man called Godwin who looked worn thin and shaky. Wynne could smell lyrium on him and knew him for an addict, but he was alive, and she knew the Circle would need to rebuild somehow. That meant every mage they could be saved must be, even the lyrium addicts. He refused to head to safer ground however, choosing instead to stay in his rooms, loitering within safe reach of the wardrobe where he had been hiding. Wynne considered the chambers that had once been her own rooms and shook her head in despair. The place would never be clean.

The First Enchanter’s office was empty, but surprisingly undisturbed. The group split up, searching for any indication that the First Enchanter had been aware of the trouble searching. Wynne, worn and feeling numb, sank into the large chair by Irving’s desk. 

“I half expected to find him here,” she admitted softly. Leliana, searching through Irving’s papers with the efficiency of someone practiced at the task, gave her a sad look.

“We shall find him,” she said hopefully. Wynne looked away. She knew better than to cling to hope.

Irving had been a friend a long time. She had been an apprentice with him when they were young, so many years ago now. He had told her to run and she hand. But in a way she was certain this was all her fault.

“Wynne, can you tell me how all this trouble started?” Alistair asked. Eideann was going through Irving’s chests for anything that might help them. 

“It is a long story,” Wynne sighed, settling into the chair. “It all started when I returned from Ostagar. I was at that ill-fated battle and I survived, barely,” she added for his benefit. She had not noticed him there, but he must have been in the camp. He nodded. “I was in no state to travel, so I stayed at Ostagar to recuperate and help the wounded. Uldred, on the other hand, left for the Tower almost immediately.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking, gazing through and beyond Irving’s desk to remember the details. The soft humming sensation within her was a warm comfort. “When I finally returned here, I found that Uldred had all but convinced the Circle to join with Loghain, the man who nearly destroyed us all.” Alistair and Leliana were both watching her now, listening. Eideann had stopped shuffling through the chests and cupboards, so Wynne could only assume she was listening as well. “I cannot fault the Circle though,” the mage admitted. “Uldred had a persuasive argument, and how could they have known what happened at Ostagar?”

“Uldred was in league with Loghain all along,” Eideann said softly from nearby, and Wynne realized she had crossed to join them, arms crossed over her chest, brows knitted. “He tried, at the War Council, to ensure his mages would replace the beacon Alistair and I lit. Loghain had originally planned for his own men to do it. That was a trap, and Uldred knew about it. Their alliance began before the battle.” She was looking at Alistair, Wynne realized, and the ex-Templar was nodding, his expression grim. Wynne sighed.

“The alliance with Loghain would have been to the Circle’s advantage,” she admitted. “According to Uldred, once Loghain was in power, he would order the Chantry to give us more freedom.” She shook her head angrily. “I told the First Enchanter what Loghain did on the battlefield. I revealed him for the traitorous bastard he is.” Anger flooded through her, and the hum became a little awkward and off kilter. She closed her eyes. “Irving said he would talk care of it. He called a meeting to confront Uldred, but something must have gone wrong. I emerged from my quarters when I heard the screams.” How many were dead because of her warning? How many were dead because she had forced Irving to face down Uldred? He had needed to be stopped, but at what price forcing Uldred’s hand?

“It is not your fault,” Leliana said quietly, her soft Orlesian accent full of sorrow. 

“We will save all we can,” Alistair added, “and make sure Uldred faces justice.” Eideann simply sniffed.

“I’ll kill him myself,” was her contribution, and if Wynne had learned anything of this woman in the last few hours, it was that she meant every threat she made. The woman directed Alistair and Leliana to scout ahead, while she stayed behind to watch over the Wynne, who was clearly struggling. Petra had not told the entire truth earlier about her being injured. How could she? Petra did not know that Wynne had died on the flagstones, that she should not have recovered at all. She believed her recovery significant, but in truth it was nothing short of miraculous. 

Wynne sighed, looking over the Grey Warden beside her. She seemed young yet, and pretty underneath the severe front. It was strange to imagine such a girl as a Grey Warden. Wynne tilted her head a little.

“So, tell me,” she said quietly. “How did you become a Grey Warden?” Eideann fixed her with a look, full of anguish and haunted memories repressed, and for a moment said nothing. Then she looked away again towards the door.

“Arl Howe massacred my family,” the woman said in a flat voice, like it was the simplest answer she could give. Wynne started. “Duncan helped me escape.” 

“Arl Rendon Howe?” Wynne pressed, suddenly feeling unsettled. “Why would he do such a thing to you?” The girl did not look at her.

“I am the daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, Teyrn and Teryna of Highever,” she said in a voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. She said the words as though they were odd to speak aloud.

“You are…you are the last of the Couslands?” Wynne said, starting. “I had no idea…my lady.” Eideann did look at her then, just to shake her head slightly.

“Don’t,” she replied. “I’m just a Grey Warden now.” Those soul-piercing eyes were deep wells of sadness then, open for all to see. 

“Yes,” Wynne replied softly. “I suppose so. But that does not mean you must forget where you came from. You survived, even when you were expected not to. We do not yet know what the Maker has in store for you or your name.” She hoped it was comforting. She had already seen that Alistair and Leliana were Chantry affiliates, and she presumed that the Couslands had been Andrastian, but she really did not know what Eideann’s thoughts were on the matter. She had hardly spoken a word about whether the Circle, founded on the backbone of the Chantry, was right or not, and whether there could be repentance under the Maker for what had been done in the Tower. 

“I will do my duty,” Eideann said in a strange voice, as if that statement was her entire creed alone. “But I won’t forget what Howe did.”

“Sometimes,” Wynne said, carefully rising from the chair, feeling the strength returning to her, “it gives me comfort to think everything will turn out as it is meant to. You were chosen, you survived the Joining when others did not,” she had helped prepare the cup herself, and knew that two of the recruits had died. “Perhaps it was meant to be.” 

There was a sound near the door of Alistair returning. 

“Leliana is waiting above,” he said simply. Eideann nodded and crossed to join him, and Wynne followed. No wonder this woman found stepping into the role of leader as natural as breathing. A Teyrn’s daughter was raised to lead, and Alistair, it was clear, was comfortable following directions. The two of them were all that remained of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, so their working relationship had a fairly straightforward dynamic. 

The third floor was the Great Hall where both mages and Templars ate. It was there that the revolt had begun, chaos erupting from the meeting rooms located around the outer ring of the Tower. The place was empty of all life, even the Templars, and there were no bodies either. Most of the mages, Wynne deduced, had become Abominations and spread about the Tower. The lack of Templars was more troubling. What could make a Templar disappear?

Eideann was looking around with a severe look, and Wynne realized suddenly that the girl was hiding fear. Alistair looked equally uneasy. He grimaced.

“Do you get the feeling that things are just getting worse as we go up?” he asked. Wynne was thinking the same thing, and it was unsettling to believe both of them assumed the worst was yet to come. Eideann’s nod made three and sealed the decision. They would move carefully from here on out. 

Within some of the chambers, fleshy nodules had grown to cover the walls and floor and ceilings, spurred by the corruption of the Fade. They made Wynne think of darkspawn totems, and she disliked the comparison immediately. Demons had possessed the corpses of the dead and made them walk through the hall and the kitchens. She did not need nightmares of darkspawn to add to the reality before her.

Worse, there was an Arcane Horror lurking that floor, the possessed corpse of a powerful mage. Wynne knew not who it had been before, but it roamed the corridors and rained advanced spells of fire and ice on them when they drew close enough, suggesting it had been one of the senior enchanters. The Arcane Horror had brought into the world a number of Rage Demons to command, and each of these was scorching heat incarnate. Wynne was hard pressed to protect the group from severe burning. 

And then there were the Templars. They finally found them within the smaller chambers nearest the steps. Their minds were gone, invaded by the Demons that had swamped the Tower, aided by the blood magic done there. They were Templars still, however, with a Templar’s skills, and Wynne found herself battered over and over by magic suppression. Their thick metal plate made it difficult for Leliana to reach them with her arrows. That meant entire rooms of Templars were dealt with by the Grey Wardens alone. Templar-trained Alistair knew the tricks, and he ducked, and wove, and gave as good as he got. Eideann Cousland was like lightning, there one moment, gone the next, dashing into open spaces and cutting through weak points in heavy armor. 

Seeing the two of them together was a spectacle. They were both excellent warriors with practiced skills, that much was clear. But together they were a deadly machine, carving a path through people who had trained all their lives to battle mages, not swordsmen. The Templars were formidable foes for Leliana and Wynne, but for Eideann and Alistair they parted like curtains. 

Wynne was glad when they encountered a few more Tranquil, who thanked them for alleviating such uncomfortable circumstances and immediately took them up on their offer to join Owain in the stockroom. Anywhere was safer than the higher levels, and at least they had eliminated any threats thus far. Their work guaranteed the lower levels were secure, and the Tranquil would be able to travel safely down to join Owain without fear of running into more demons or Abominations. Wynne made sure both were well before sending them on their way. She was determined to look after everyone. It was her best skill.

That humming within her never stopped, and she was thankful for it. It was a reminder that she was alive, and also a reminder that her time may yet be limited, and all things are transitory. 

It felt like they were making progress, despite the fact that every so often Eideann called a halt and sent Leliana to scout ahead for trouble, even while she watched Wynne rest. It became a routine after a while, always uneventful. Or it was, until they reached the Fourth Floor where the Templars were quartered, and Leliana returned quickly with a worried look.

“It is not abandoned,” she reported, her bow nocked and ready. “There is a demon there and a dead mage. And the entire place has been overgrown with those things.” She nodded to the fleshy nodes spawned from the corruption of the Fade.

“There is no way around it. If the other mages yet live, and Uldred remains in the Tower as we suspect he does, they will be at the very top,” Eideann said.

“The Harrowing Chamber.” Alistair was the one who had put name to it. Wynne realized the boy had been here before. She wondered exactly how far in Templar training he had gotten, to have stood witness to a Harrowing in the Tower. He seemed so young. Too young.

“Then we must go forward,” Leliana said simply, her Orlesian accent softened with a little hesitation.

Eideann nodded. “We will kill this one as all the others.” And she led the way up.

But this demon was not a Rage Demon as the others had been. It was a demon of Sloth, or so they were currently called – the true nature was under some debate recently. Some referred to them as Despair demons, not Sloth, but one bred the other, regardless. When it caught sight of them, he gave a slow, jeering smile, beckoning them into its realm. Alistair struggled against it, but his Templar abilities were of little use with the Viel so weak. Wynne found herself slowly drifting into sleep, being pulled into the Fade. The humming became a buzzing, frantic in her mind, but she could not drive away the power of the demon. Beside her, Leliana had led down, covering her ears as if doing so would help. And then, as everything faded to black and sleep, Eideann Cousland collapsed.

***

There was rain falling in the Atrium, the soft smell of damp earth and open skies hanging heavy in the chilled air. A deep fog had settled over Highever Quay, nestled in the crags and falls of the basalt hills of the Storm Coast. All around the sounds of the world seemed muted, buried in the cushions of mist and rain, until all that remained was the gentle pitter patter of raindrops that fell on the Atrium garden plants or escaped onto the stone. 

A child laughed in the distance.

“Oren?” Eideann carefully navigated the Atrium, her velvet skirts dragging at the carpet pile and leaving a brushed trail in her wake. “Oren? Was that you?” 

The laughter was innocent, a boy at play. It was somewhere beyond, above, further into the chambers. But she hesitated to go further in. Something bad would happen if she did. She knew it. So she turned away instead, and took the door back, the spiral staircase down, and the corridor out into the castle proper. 

The soft sound of lute music was floating up from the Great Hall, and she considered it a moment before smiling slightly and going to see who was playing. The halls were still empty, but she knew, she just knew, she would find them all there, waiting. All of them. 

The chamber was bustling with all manner of people. Her father stood on the dais laughing with Arl Leonas Bryland of South Reach and Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe. Her mother was gathered with Lady Landra Loren, Arlessa Isolde of Redcliffe, and Bann Alfstanna Eremon, all of them in whispered conversation of some sort. A young boy burst through the door at the far end, Oren hot on his heels. 

Nearby, Eideann saw Fergus and Oriana standing with Bann Teagan. She smiled and went to join them, but someone caught her hand, pulling her back, and she saw Rory Gilmore grinning at her. 

“Come with me?” he asked, and she hesitated. 

The sound of horns announced the arrival of the King’s household and all turned to look as the doors burst open. 

A Grey Warden came first, the Warden-Commander Duncan of Ferelden. He had his swords drawn, blood dripping into the thick carpet as he drew towards the steps. Eideann took a step back.

The king was a headless corpse, walking, one arm in Queen Anora’s, as if all was normal. Beside him walked Teryn Loghain, carrying the King’s head, which smiled and looked about the room. Behind Loghain was Arl Rendon Howe, who found her eyes across the hall and gave her a slow sneer. 

“No.” Eideann stepped back again, but Ser Gilmore stopped her, standing in her way.

“Don’t be rude, Pup. It’s the king,” he said, nodding to the precession. Eideann shook her head.

“No, no, this is wrong.” She turned, trying to escape, but he gripped her arms, holding her steady.

“You can’t run. What’s the matter?” She broke away from him, stepping back and stumbling over her own skirts. Everyone had stopped, everyone was staring at her, and the person who caught her next was Duncan. He looked at her with dark eyes, Rivaini skin catching the firelight from the dais. She spun about to face him, catching him with a fierce slap. He recoiled, bringing a hand to touch his cheek, then staring at her.

“Lady Cousland?” he asked fiercely. She gritted her teeth.

“Stay away from me,” she said in a warning tone. 

“Sister, come away.” It hurt. Oh it hurt to hear Fergus calling to her. It was his voice, the pain and disappointment and worry. She almost went. She almost went. But instead she stepped forward, wrenching Duncan’s sword from his hands until they stood, armed, circling each other. Her skirts still dragged on the carpet, impeding her, and she grimaced. 

“This is wrong,” she said again. “You should be dead.” Duncan laughed at her, shaking his head and opening his arms wide, his grip on his sword loose, even as he circled.

“Dead? Me? I have been close many times, but never made it all the way.” He shook his head.

“This isn’t right,” Eideann repeated, as if trying to convince herself. Beyond the precession, the world was a haze, fog and darkness and night. Rain still fell, and Highever was eerily empty outside this one room.

“Everything is as it should be,” Duncan said softly. “We have eradicated the darkspawn and the world is at peace. Come. Celebrate.”

“That is not right.” She forced herself to look at Loghain, at Howe, and then about the room. So many of them should be dead. As she thought it, her father collapsed, blood soaking his silk shirt, forming a pool at his feet. Her mother was next, slain by Howe who brandished the knife as he made his rounds of the room. Oriana let out a scream, and Oren’s. Where was justice? Why did Fergus not do something? But Fergus had vanished. Where was Fergus?

“The world is never utterly at peace,” Eideann said firmly, brandishing the sword before her, angling it across her body as she had done so many times before.

“Keep it steady,” came a soft voice at her ear. Rory. It was a breath of fresh air. “Do not falter.” 

“The darkspawn,” she added, her voice a little stronger as she focused on Duncan, ignoring all the others around them, even Howe. That was hard. “The darkspawn will always be a threat. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.” It was like a beam of light. The twisting fog was not the mists of Highever any longer. It was the tendrils of the shifting nightmare she had been dragged into. Duncan brought the sword up, and they clashed.

The noise of the battle was muted in the odd atmosphere, but still they danced, Eideann gathering her skirt in her free hand so she could step out of the way without tripping. Duncan parried, a force of nature, but he only had one sword himself. 

Eideann shifted, hurtling over a bench and through the crowd, ignoring the visions of Howe, Loghain, or the headless form of the King. She thrust it all aside, out of her mind, and they dissolved, until all that was left was an empty ruin, ancient Tevinter stonework under her feet, and she was in battered chainmail instead. The blade in her hand was the Cousland sword, glimmering with blue runes. She whipped around and parried Duncan’s blow with the sharp strategy of a practiced arm. And then she went on the offensive. 

He staggered backwards under her blows, but she went on, over and over and over until at last there was nowhere else for him to run. 

“I wanted you to be happy here at Weishaupt,” Duncan said, holding off her attack with effort. Eideann shook her head. No. She feared Tevinter towers. Why was that? 

Oh yes.

Ostagar.

“You are meant to be dead,” she said with finality, and then thrust the sword through his Warden plate into his chest. Duncan’s eyes went wide, and he gripped at the blade, making a pained sound, before slowly dissolving away. Eideann stared at the spot where he had been, then realized she had been holding her breath. She drew a deliberate one then, swallowing, and glanced to the sword, which was glowing like cold fire. 

Then the sword vanished, and so did the fake Weishaupt, and for a moment there was nothing. Nothing except light.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann reunites with Leliana and Alistair in the Fade; Alistair puts his Templar training to use to save Wynne; the Sloth Demon tries to stop the group from escaping the Fade; Morrigan tries to ignore Shale to no avail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.   
> Thank you all my readers who keep coming back for more. I'm now over 200 hits! I'm glad so many people are enjoying the story! ~HigheverRains

The Chant was echoing high up in the cloister as quiet brothers and sisters tended candles and made their silent rounds. At the far end of the hall, beyond the pews, amidst an array of warm, rose stained glass windows, was a statue of Andraste, reaching up towards the sky like she too were singing. 

Eideann looked at her gown, a simple dress of scarlet Highever Weave, and then licked her lips. Leliana. 

The lay sister was at the far end of the hall, so Eideann moved there slowly, quietly. A Mother stood in attendance over the praying sister, who was muttering snatches of the Chant over clasped hands as if it would save her very soul.

Eideann stopped by the closes pew and considered the statue of Andraste. Even here, even in the Fade…

She closed her eyes a moment.

_Foul and corrupt are you who have taken My gift and turned it against My children,_ she thought, surprised she remembered even that much of the Chant. She had never been one for prayer, but if the stories were true, and the Maker did dwell in the depths of the Fade somewhere, let there be some answer. There was none, and so she took it the same way she always did. She would solve the problem herself. She would fight her own battles.

“Blessed art thou who exist in the sight of the Maker,” Leliana said quietly, the Revered Mother waving her hand above the bard’s red hair as she extolled the Chant. “Blessed art thou who seeks his forgiveness.” 

“Thank the Maker you’re safe,” Eideann said quietly, hoping not to startle her. Leliana looked up, turning to glance over her shoulder at Eideann.

“What? Who are you?” Eideann sighed, her eyes going to the Revered Mother a moment. The elderly woman spoke with a frail voice, almost drowning in the fabric of her ornate Chantry robes. 

“I beg you, do not disturb the girl’s meditations,” she said. Leliana rose to her feet, considering Eideann from head to foot. 

“Revered Mother, I do not know this person,” she said quietly, looking unsettled. Maybe that was because part of her obviously did know Eideann, but the Grey Warden simply fixed the Orlesian spy with her Cousland Blue gaze. 

“Leliana,” she said softly, clearly, and the bard hesitated, then shook her head.

“Please, do not vex her,” the Revered Mother said. “She needs quiet and solitude to clear her mind and heal her heart.” 

Heal her heart? Eideann slowly turned her gaze on the priest and shook her head.

“And what would you know of it, demon?” She slowly reached out a hand towards Leliana. “Do you remember,” she asked the bard, “why you left the cloister?” Highever had fallen apart when she had started denying the truth of it. Highever had become less real, more a twisted lie, the more she had thought back, the more she had remembered. If she could make Leliana do the same…

“I remember,” Leliana said, staring at Eideann like she would somehow show her the light. “There was a sign,” she slowly reached for Eideann’s hand, but the Revered Mother gave a scoffing sound.

“Leliana, we have discussed this… _sign_ of yours. The Maker does not care to interfere in the affairs of mortals. This _vision_ was likely the work of demons.” It was a desperate argument. Eideann gently brushed Leliana’s fingers, until they curled into her own. 

“You would know,” she said to the Revered Mother, stepping forward a little to put herself between them. She felt the weight of her sword again and slowly drew it from its sheath at her back, glad of the comfort of its grip in her hand. 

“The Maker cares for us,” Leliana said, and her Chantry vestments had turned into an ornate leather armor, embroidered with Orlesian flowers. Her bow was at her back again. Eideann sighed in relief. Leliana was with her. “I believe He misses His wayward children as much as we miss Him. My vision my not be from Him, but it guides me to do what is right.” Her eyes narrowed. “My Revered Mother knew this. I don’t know who you are, but you are not her.” The Revered Mother flickered a little, but then solidified. Eideann raised her blade.

“This is your home,” the demon crowed. “Your refuge. Do you truly wish the leave the comfort of this place behind? Stay and know peace.” But even then the corners of the Chantry were fading into hazy nothingness, and the place was empty now where it had been full before. The Chant in the cloister sounded wrong, off-key or twisted. 

“There is no need,” Leliana said quietly, releasing Eideann’s hand and drawing her bow. “I carry the peace of the Chantry in my heart.” The demon flickered again, morphing shape before settling into the Revered Mother’s skin once more.

“You are going nowhere, girl. I will not permit it.” 

“You cannot command her any longer, demon,” Eideann said quietly, angrily. “She is free.” The demon did not like that one bit. It shifted shape, this time releasing the Revered Mother’s shape entirely as the Chantry dissolved about them.

Leliana’s arrow found its mark in his head, knocking it backwards and forcing it back into the depths of the Fade. She looked at Eideann. 

“Holy Maker,” she gasped. “She _was_ a…a…” 

“Now is not the time to fall apart, Leliana,” Eideann said, sheathing her blade even as it disappeared and considering the blank and formless Fade about them. 

“Ugh, my head feels heavy,” Leliana said, running her hands over her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Like I’ve just woken up from a terrible nightmare.” She sighed. “I believe we had some task to accomplish?” Eideann nodded, then picked a direction at random.

“We need to find the others and get out of here before it is too late.” 

“Alright, where are we going?”

“This way.” She simply kept walking, having no other answers. It had worked to find Leliana, after all. She had just suddenly arrived in the Chantry. If she was lucky the same would happen again. 

The way she saw it was this: the Fade was too big to be controlled by one demon, so a demon with the power to influence the shape and images of the Fade for trapped people was obviously very powerful, or only very powerful in their own little area of the Fade. Since the demon was not rampaging through the entire Tower outside, they were obviously dealing with a demon on the less powerful side, meaning everyone was bound to be trapped in a relatively small area of the Fade, and that it simply took traversing enough of it to find everyone. She suspected the entire thing twisted back on itself to keep the demon’s prey from escaping into other parts of the Fade. It was under all those assumptions that Eideann had every intention to continue walking.

When she was not in the formed dreams, she had some time to think, to consider what exactly was going on. Her own nightmare had put a number of things in stark relief for her, namely that she had not yet come to terms with the events a month prior, and that she felt overwhelmed by the political game before her. And she had felt the biggest stab of fear at wondering where Fergus was. That unknown. That one unknown in the middle of everything. He had made it to Ostagar, then vanished into the Wilds. 

He could still be alive. But to hope that…it was too painful.

Then she realized she sounded like Knight-Commander Greagoir when she had told him she would go into the Tower to find survivors, and she had to bury her anger deep inside herself to burn away.

“Leliana?” she asked quietly, and the lay sister drew alongside her. “You…you believe some very different things to what the Chantry teaches. They say the Maker has left us.” It seemed odd to discuss it. It did not really matter. But it had been an inkling of a thought, just a single thing that made her hesitate back in that cloister with the demonic Revered Mother and the twisted Chant. 

“He’s still here,” Leliana said quietly. “I hear Him in the wind and the waves; I feel Him in the sunlight that warms my skin.” She had a small little smile just for herself now. “I know what the Chantry says about the Maker. And what should I believe: what I feel in my heart, or what others tell me?” Her grey eyes were watching Eideann then, seeking some reply. Eideann considered a moment, then answered the only way she could.

“Believe whatever feels right to you,” she said simply, because she had done the same all her life, and she could not deny the same to the bard. Obviously there was something Leliana had fled to the Chantry to escape. There was something in her past she needed to find forgiveness for, and safety. One day she may learn what that something was, but until then she was not going to dictate another’s beliefs. Whatever she thought of the Chantry and its many flaws, the absent Maker, and all the mess with magic and demons and darkspawn did not matter. What mattered was escaping the place in one piece, mentally and physically, and ending the Blight and the Civil War before either could destroy her homeland.

“Thank you. It is nice to find someone who agrees,” Leliana said quietly, watching her feet. “I know what I know. And no one will ever make that untrue.” She was still recovering from her own nightmare.

“Look,” Eideann said, nodding towards the left where a small cottage stood at the start of a hazy street. A lamp glowed at the front, lit candle flickering, but this was the edge of the dream and the things being formed were half-made here where it clashed with the rest of the Fade. Eideann considered a moment, then looked to Leliana.

“Wynne or Alistair?” she wondered aloud. Leliana shook her head. 

“It could be either of them,” she admitted. 

“I…let me go first,” Eideann said. “I don’t want the demons here to panic because too many of us have broken in at once.”

“I will wait,” Leliana agreed, “and watch your back.” Eideann muttered a thank you and stepped inside the dream, her footfalls muted on the false cobblestone of the street. The cottage only had one door, and a single window, but she could not see through into the interior, so she had no choice. She opened the door carefully, and the inside of the cottage drew her up short.

“It’s you,” came the soft voice she knew too well by now. Alistair was sitting by a small fireplace, a number of children playing a game at his feet. A woman with strawberry blonde hair and a green gown was stirring a pot hanging in the hearth. There were a bunk beds stacked against two of the walls, and the others were piled with laundry in various states of clean. Eideann heard the door shut behind her and looked about.

This was Alistair’s dream, and so she was once again without a sword. Instead, she was barefoot, which made her feet cold on the stone floor. She was clad in peasant rags, which made her uncomfortable because they did not quite fit. But then again, he was looking much the same and seemed quite happy with it. 

“I was just thinking about you,” he said with a smile, moving over on his seat to make some room. “Isn’t that a marvelous coincidence?” He obviously expected her to sit down. She refused, leaning instead against the wall and considering the other occupants of the room. It seemed so simple, and so busy. And Alistair…

“This is my sister,” he said suddenly, and she considered the woman leaning over the cooking pot. “Goldanna.” The woman smiled and Eideann nodded a hello for posterity’s sake. “These are her children. And there’s more about somewhere.” Eideann looked to Alistair to see his soft amber eyes watching her with unadulterated joy. “We’re one big happy family at long last.” 

So that was it then. Part of her had known it, of course. He had told her about his upbringing under Arl Eamon, about being sent away when he was so young. He had grown up without any of this. She swallowed, hard. Alistair had replaced his childhood goals of a family with his Templar training, and then later tried to find a home among the Grey Wardens. And now, all of them were dead. All except for her. She wanted to cross to him then, and had to resist the urge to take him in her arms and hold him close. Her own family was gone as well, and that hurt. This whole place hurt. This demon was a cruel manipulator.

She settled for crossing her arms, forcing herself to stay back in case the demon made its move. She could not get caught up in this either. 

“You seem very…content,” she finally said, her voice quiet. He smiled at her, and it was the sort of smile that shot right through her soul and made her melt all over. It was too trusting, that smile. Too innocent. She thought again about their trip into the Wilds and his gentle heart preventing him from helping the tainted scout. Alistair would be lost to this dream if she could not help him soon.

“I am,” he said, rising and crossing to join her in surveying his ‘family’. “I’m happier than I have been my entire life. Isn’t that strange?” He gave a soft laugh at himself. Then he leaned his forehead on her shoulder. She stilled, letting him have his moment, but it made her feel a little uneasy. “I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn’t,” he said in a quiet voice. He moved, standing straight again, but she could still imagine his head on her shoulder. “This does.” 

Goldanna smiled at them, stepping away from the pot. 

“I am overjoyed to have my little brother back. I’ll never let him out of my sight again,” she announced in a voice that could never be real. Eideann drew a deep breath. Breaking this compulsion was going to do a world of harm to Alistair, she knew. Part of her wanted to let it go, to let this be, to believe it was real. But no. She could not do that. They were Grey Wardens.

“Join us,” she said quietly, “as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.” A shadow of sorrow passed over Alistair’s face, then it was gone. “You…live with your sister?”

“There’s nothing wrong with living with my sister,” he said softly in reply, waving away the thought with one hand. His eyes were narrower now, though, like he was slowly trying to work through everything. “I’ve never had a real family before.” Eideann slowly reached out as she had done with Leliana until her hand crept into his. He glanced down at it, then at her, but before he could say anything, Goldanna interrupted.

“Well, Alistair, is your friend staying for supper?” Alistair’s eyes lit up and he grinned that brilliant boyish grin again. 

“Say you’ll stay!” he exclaimed. “Goldanna’s a great cook!” She half expected him to break their contact, but instead his hand tightened in hers. Eideann wet her lips. Goldanna was definitely the demon’s presence here, but all her so-called children probably were shades of a sort as well, rather than conjured from air. They were in for a fight either way. 

“I can’t stay,” she said quietly. “And neither can you.” He released her hand, stepping back.

“You’re acting really strangely,” he said, shaking his head. Eideann felt a shot of fear. What if he did not come with her? She could not do this alone. She could not end an entire Blight without him.

When had she become so dependent on him? She pushed that thought aside for later to consider when all was well and they were safe.

“Think about this,” she said softly, her voice a gentle plea of reason. “Think about how you got here.” Alistair stared at her a moment, then crossed his arms, looking away. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “If it makes you happy. I…” His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “It’s a little fuzzy. That’s strange.” Eideann took a careful step towards him, keeping one eye on Goldanna who was watching them with an expression of growing anger.

“Alistair, come and have some tea,” she said in a low purr. It put Eideann’s guard up. It put Alistair’s up as well, she noticed and was thankful. 

“No, wait. I remember a tower.” He looked to Eideann then for some sort of confirmation. “The Circle. It was under attack. There were demons.” Eideann nodded, feeling a wash of relief he was coming around and also the rising sensation of danger from the impending battle with Goldanna and her false family. 

“That’s when we got trapped in the Fade, where we are now,” she told him. She kept her tone deliberately calm. She could feel the weight of her sword back. Alistair was beginning to break through the compulsion of the Fade, and her own will was showing through. It was a good sign.

“Are you saying this is a dream?” he asked morosely. “But it seems so real…” 

“Of course it’s real,” Goldanna snapped. “Now wash up before supper and I – “

“Something doesn’t feel quite right here,” Alistair said, turning away from his sister and focusing on Eideann. “I think I have to go.” He noted the sword at her back, then watched as she reached for it. She held out her free hand to him. 

“Then come with me,” she said softly, beckoning. And he reached to take her hand. 

“No!” Goldanna’s voice was dark and deep, nothing like the gentle village girl tones from before. Alistair started, and Eideann’s sword rang free with a clear chime. “He is ours! And I’d rather see him dead than free!” Alistair was suddenly armed and armored as well, this time in Grey Warden plate, and his will was so strong she found her own outfit reflecting his. It felt odd to be clad in the official armor, and equally odd to find a Warden-issued sword in her hand now instead.

Goldanna morphed into a shade as black as night, and her children broke from their game to become the skeletal remains of lost souls. Alistair was on them in a moment, and Eideann at his side. They did fight well together, each moving with the grace and skill of practiced warriors. There was an art to it, like dancing, and their styles were complimentary, meaning they were in sync without ever needing to check with one another. 

When the shades were defeated and the house about them began to fade away, Alistair sheathed his sword and glanced sidelong to Eideann.

“I can’t believe it,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “How did I not see this earlier?” Eideann slid her sword back into its sheath at her back. It had become her family blade again now Alistair’s will had faded with the end of the battle.

“The Fade is not like the real world,” she told him simply. He blushed slightly.

“Yes, well…err…try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was,” he said. She thought of his head on her shoulder, spilling his secrets and his hearts desires in the safety of a room brimming with love, the way he had been thinking of her, and she felt her own cheeks heat a little. She turned away. 

“Come on,” she said as the last of the dream faded away and Leliana began her descent towards them. “We still have to find Wynne.” 

***

He had been such a fool. The shame of it ran through him, its cut like a silverite knife. She had not laughed at him. She had been all business as usual, marching into his dream and coaxing him out while he acted all sorts of ridiculous. Now she would not even look at him. And that hurt.

Maker, he was meant to be a Templar, and he had fallen for so simple a trick. Desire, he guessed, knowing full well what for and even now being unable to put words to it. Eideann Cousland had seen his heart laid bare, and now he had no idea how to regain his dignity with all that on display.

Leliana gave him a curious look but did not ask as their paths finally met. They moved in silence then, Eideann leading them like usual – when had that become usual? He wondered. 

And suddenly they were back in the tower, deep shadows casting black figures on the walls, candles flickering oddly and untended. Alistair looked about, hesitating, then focused really hard on his sword and it came to his hand without his moving a muscle. 

A dream then. They were not out. 

“Wynne,” Leliana breathed beside him, her face a mask of concern.

The place was stronger, probably because it was so accurate a reflection of what lay just beyond the Veil. The demon dwelled in a world that lay over the top of their own reality, and the Fade reflected the world around it. He knew that much from his training. Because of this, Wynne’s dream was far bigger than his own had been. They had to climb the stone staircases through empty halls strewn with dead mages and Templars, moving upwards higher and higher, until at last they were at the foot of the chamber where the Templars performed Harrowings. 

Alistair felt a cold sweat. He remembered the girl the year before, her eyes transfixed, her body partly twisted, the Knight Commander’s icy stare and a Templar sword piercing through her. He closed his eyes to will it away before it became truth. Then he looked to the women he travelled with, eyes narrow.

“This won’t be pleasant,” he warned them. Eideann gave a nod, but she still was not looking at him. Leliana just shifted her grip on her bow.

The Harrowing chamber was a great wide circle with stained glass windows set in arches that filtered in blue and purple starlight. In the center stood Wynne, and all about her in tattered and bloodied silk tunics were mages, most in the blues of apprentices. There were young ones, old ones.

“Maker, forgive me,” the old woman said, her hands bloody, her hair disheveled. “I failed them. They died and I did not stop it.” Eideann took a step forward, but it was Alistair who caught her arm, shaking his head.

“Wait a moment. Let me?” he suggested. He had an idea here, and Wynne seemed deeper in than the rest of them. Her dream was not the happy one his own had been. Eideann considered him a moment, then stepped back, granting him the chance, and he took it, feeling the embarrassed flush of her eyes on his and recalling again all she now knew of him. 

He made his way carefully through the corpses, careful to avoid treading on any of them. Wynne looked up at his approach, her eyes filled with tears, her whole body frail and liable to break down. He did the same trick as before, willing himself into Templar armor, and felt the odd weight as it settled over him. Strange to need it now, but it felt right here. It felt like it was supposed to. Wynne watched him warily. 

“They’re not dead yet,” he told her carefully. “We can still save the Circle.” She shook her head.

“Death,” she said. “Can you not see? It is all around us.” He could see it, but he pressed onward. 

“You’re in the Fade. This is a dream,” he told her in a voice both soft and firm at the same time. Wynne looked down at the bodies again.

“Why was I spared, if not to help them? What use is my life now that I have failed in the task that was given to me?” He recognized the danger in those words. He had felt much the same after Ostagar. It still hurt to think on those losses. He slowly reached out to touch her shoulder, hoping it was a comfort. She shrugged him off irritably. “Leave me to my grief! I shall bury their bones, scatter their ashes to the four winds, and mourn their passing till I too am dead.” Alistair shook his head. 

“This is getting morbid,” he sighed.

“Your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead strikes me as being utterly inappropriate,” she snapped, but at least she was looking at him again. He raised an eyebrow.

“Please think about what you are doing here and why,” he said simply. She was a Senior Mage. Surely she could work out she was in the Fade. Weren’t mages supposed to be good at that sort of thing? He could feel the watchful gazes of Leliana and Eideann at his back and crossed his arms. The long robes of Chantry purple and gold felt like the weight of a lifetime on him suddenly.

“I do not know what you are trying to tell me,” Wynne said, waving him away. “Why must you make this more painful?” Her tone became angry. “And where were you when this happened? I trusted you as allies, and you were nowhere to be found!” Alistair nodded.

“Isn’t that proof enough that something isn’t right?” he suggested. Her brow knitted and the old mage pursed her lips, considering his statement a moment. He nudged her forward a little, “Do you remember anything that came before this?” She sighed.

“We were entering into the tower…and then I remember that there was all this death about me. There was no sign of you, none at all, it was just me and…all this. I…I don’t remember anything of them dying. I just know they are dead.” Her voice was jumping a little, panicking. She buried her head in her hands. “Why? Why wouldn’t I remember them dying?” He reached to touch her shoulder again and she did not shrug him away this time.

“It’s a dream,” he said. “It doesn’t have to make sense.” His had not made any sense in hindsight. Eideann showing up in peasant rags? The woman was a Teyrna. And living with his sister? He forced himself to focus. 

“Something in your speech,” Wynne replied after a moment, “rings true, but it feels as though my mind is…clouded over.” She looked to him then, eyes considering him in that usual motherly way, and she nodded. “Perhaps some time away from this place will help me think clearly?” Alistair smiled slightly.

“It couldn’t hurt,” he agreed. 

“Don’t leave us, Wynne.” One by one the corpses rose to their feet, eyes transfixed, staring at them. Blood still stained their robes, but they moved like they were alive. “We don’t want to be alone.” Alistair reached for his sword and the Chantry shield at his back. Wynne put herself behind him in a panic. 

“Holy Maker! Stay away, foul creature!” she exclaimed, staying close to him. Alistair did not need any other reply. He reached into what energy he had left and smote the whole room, making sure to keep Wynne close enough she would not feel the full force of it. The demons went down, and he swung about to catch the others, but they were peppered full of arrows before he could speak. Another rose up and Wynne gave a cry, but then it fell and Eideann Cousland rose to her full height behind it. With the monsters felled, she considered them.

“Are you alright?” she asked Wynne quietly. The elderly mage nodded morosely and then looked to Alistair. 

“You would have been a good Templar,” she told him quietly after a moment of looking him over. Then she stepped back and drew a deep breath.

The Harrowing chamber swam. The walls and stained glass windows vanished, as did the bodies, until all that was left were lyrium deposits and the odd uneven earth of the Fade. Across from them, several paces away, was the oddest creature any of them had seen. Eideann turned to stand at Alistair’s side. Leliana joined them. 

“What do we have here?” it asked in the same slow voice as the sloth demon had outside. They were one in the same, this its true form, and Alistair felt a flush of anger and a tingle of fear. He exchanged looks with Eideann Cousland, but she had the same face she always got when facing down people she was irritated by: the sardonic little smirk and the eyes like flint. “Rebellious minions?” the sloth demon asked. Its face was covered in a mask, but its mouth was exposed, lip-less and drawn, sharp and perfectly aligned teeth stretching from one side to the other in death’s grin. “Escaped slaves?” The demon laughed, and it echoed oddly about them, both high pitched and low at the same time. Alistair raised his shield a little higher and prepared himself. “My, my,” the demon grinned, “but you do have some gall.” It twisted its neck and then considered them again, its tone sharp and cruel now. “Playtime is over. You all have to go back now.” Eideann’s eyes narrowed. 

“You cannot hold us, Demon,” Wynne cried, her voice the firm dismissal of a Senior Mage at last. “We found one another in this place and you cannot stand against us!” 

“If you go back quietly,” the demon said in a sickly sweet hum, “I’ll do better this time. I’ll make you much happier.” It hurt to even think about it, and it was wrong, but Alistair thought of the thing that had been Goldanna. She was real, his sister, living in Denerim. He had first learned of her six months ago. Maybe…maybe if they were in the area they could see her. She probably did not even know he existed. 

Eideann nudged him, breaking his train of thought. Her eyes considered him, pulling him back, and he gave himself a little shake.

“We make our own happiness,” Eideann said to him, but also to the demon, loud enough for her voice to carry through the muted Fade.

“Can’t you think about someone other than yourselves?” the demon shot back in its odd two-toned voice. “I’m hurt. So very, very hurt.” 

“Sorry,” Alistair said, “but we’re in a bit of a hurry and would rather just be done with this now.” The demon drew backward a little, as if it were affronted. 

“You wish to battle me? So be it.” 

The sloth demon transformed, becoming the thing of nightmares, pulling from each of them the things they feared. First it was an ogre, fierce and giant and roaring, like the one they had faced down at Ostagar. Then it was a demon of rage, its heat so hot it burned to be too close and Alistair was forced to drop his shield. Then it was an Abomination, twisted and disfigured, sharp claws ripping at their flesh. And then it was itself again, flinging evil magic that was immune to his Templar powers.

It was Wynne who finally ended it, striking it down with a conjured boulder that burst through its flimsy figure and forced it to dissolve into the Fade. They stood, staring, uncertain it really was over, until Wynne gave a soft chuckle and a sigh of relief. 

What happened next was unexpected. They did not wake up as he had thought they might, not immediately. Instead, a man in yellow mage silk robes joined them rather suddenly, his brown hair hanging in pieces over his forehead. He considered them all with sad, open eyes.

“Niall,” Wynne breathed.

“You defeated the demon,” he finally said, a little in awe himself apparently. “I never thought…I never expected anyone to free us.” He looked to Wynne. “Wynne, when you return, take the Litany of Adralla from my…body. It will protect you from the worst of the blood magic.” Alistair blinked.

“Aren’t you coming to help?” he asked. Niall shook his head.

“I cannot go with you,” he told them. “I’ve been here far too long. For you it will have been an afternoon’s nap. Your bodies won’t have wasted away in the real world while your spirits lay in the hands of the demon.” 

“You think you are going to die?” Leliana demanded, her voice sharp. Niall sighed. 

“Every minute I was here, the Sloth Demon was feeding off of me, using my life to fuel the nightmares of this realm.” Alistair felt a sick twisting sensation in his gut. To think this mage had paid the price for his dreams of Goldanna? He stiffened. Niall looked about. “There is so little of me left,” he told them softly. 

“You’re not dying,” Leliana insisted. “We can heal you!” 

“Thank you,” Niall said with a sad little smile, “but it is too late for me. And I do not fear what may come. They say we return to the Maker in death, and that isn’t such a terrible thing.” Alistair felt a shudder go through him at the thought of being trapped in the Fade for an eternity. Niall drew a deep breath.

“We should go,” Eideann said quietly, her voice interrupting them, and Niall nodded. 

“I will use the last of my power to send you home,” he told them, and Eideann nodded, meeting his gaze with her fierce blue.

The next sensation was the cold ache of being led on stone floor. Alistair groaned, forcing himself up and feeling the press of his scale mail on his flesh as he bent oddly to manage it. He gathered up his sword, looking around, then caught sight of the others. Leliana was helping Wynne up carefully. Eideann was crouched beside Niall’s corpse, gazing at his face. Her eyes were stony, and in her hand was the scroll that Niall had given his life to bring this far. The Litany of Adralla.

“We must go on,” Alistair said quietly. “We are almost there.” Eideann looked up, then nodded, rising and passing the Litany to Wynne who could make the most use of it. Then she sheathed her blades and took a final look at Niall. 

“So much death,” she said quietly. Alistair felt the pang of it too. So much death, now and all the lives lost since Ostagar, or even before Ostagar.

Their goal was the Blight. Their goal was the Archdemon. They had to press on.

They had no other choice.

***

The great hulking beast was hovering over her. She shot it glare, several times, but still it stood, watching, like it was waiting for an opportunity. At last she was just tired of it, so she swung about, setting down her mortar and pestle, and set her hands on her hips.

“Yes?”

“The swamp witch has a great deal in common with my former master.” Morrigan glared.

“The swamp witch? How original,” she said archly. Even the damn Qunari would be better than this, and he wanted her leashed and in chains with her lips sewn shut. 

“The swamp witch has the same arrogance, the same air of cruelty.” Morrigan turned away back to her work at making poultices from the herbs Eideann had left her. She was at least going to do her part, so no one could complain, and anyway there was something soothing about alchemy. It involved absolutely no talking. In a way it was like being in animal form. “I would hate for it to have possession of my control rod…if it still worked of course.” Morrigan did not even spare it a glance this time, crushing more of the plant’s leaves into mulch.

“Let me tell you what you can do with your control rod, golem,” she said darkly. The golem paused for the briefest of moments, then said in a suspicious tone:

“Is it telling me that if the rod did work that it wouldn’t want control over me?” Morrigan closed her eyes, then shook her head.

“I wouldn’t go so far as that,” she said simply, then looked out towards the pier. “I could, for instance, command you to go and jump in that lake. It is a very deep lake.” The golem, Shale, made the closest thing to a sniff Morrigan had heard. 

“It fools no one,” it said simple. “The swamp witch would control everything, if it could. It would have us all dancing on its strings.” Morrigan thought bitterly to the conversation she had had with Flemeth over the prone forms of the dying Grey Wardens. Her mother had used every ounce of power she had to keep the two of them alive. And then she had told Morrigan exactly why she had bothered. Damn the old crone, selling her out for another of her wretched plans. To think, the things she was asking of her…

No.

“Oh, you know me too well, golem,” she said simply, sarcastically. “Your revealing gaze has laid me bare.”

“I will be watching the swamp witch.” Evidentally more than it had been watching already, which she had presumed to be a nearly constant endeavor. “It must not be trusted.” Morrigan just sighed.

“Now you’re beginning to sound just like Alistair,” she lamented. That boy…to think he was the only option. To think it all came down to what he decided in the end. 

She still hated the plan, and she hated him, and she did not know what to think of Eideann, who handled people so well and appeared at times so ruthless, and yet was determined to have Qunari and golems and Chantry layabouts in tow at all turns. She thought to the conversation she had overheard at the Mayor’s hut, turning into a mouse to listen in because Eideann had told her to do such a thing and had never told her not to spy on her. To hear the woman plan to murder a whole town of sick people, to drown them no less…

She was not sure what she thought of that. It was practical. It was perhaps the only way. And yet…and yet…it seemed so strange to hear such practicality from another. The other people she had met had been so wound up in sentimentality, in loves and needs and desires, that they had failed to do precisely what they must do when situations demanded it. Morrigan respected Eideann, which was a frightening enough concept considering she had only know the woman a few weeks. If anyone would understand Morrigan’s situation, it would be Eideann. 

But it was too soon to say yet, far too soon. And even so, there were a great many ifs before she could work out the particulars. The Grey Wardens needed an army first. They needed to end the Civil War. And who knew when that would happen. 

She sniffed, dropping another of the plants into the mortar to grind into paste. At least she could keep busy. Even in present company. Even despite present company. 

There was a squishing noise and a loud squawk and she looked around sharply to see the golem staring at the ground amidst a pile of gently floating feathers. It took her a moment, then she turned away, shaking her head.

Definitely despite present company.

“Why does the swamp witch - ?”

“Keep asking questions and I shall turn into a bird. I can do that.” The golem went silent, then snorted.

“I have no fear of birds.”

“I didn’t say you were afraid.” She narrowed her eyes. “I would simply hover out of reach, hovering, waiting until…”

“Enough! I shall be silent.” Morrigan let a small smile twist the very corner of her lips as she reached for another vial from her pouch of supplies.

“Excellent choice,” she said simply. Yes, even despite present company, she _would_ keep busy. Or she would die trying.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries to tell the difference between dreams and reality when the Grey Wardens appear to stop Uldred; Eideann and her group face off against Uldred to save the Circle Tower; Wynne joins the Grey Wardens; Eideann and Alistair discuss Soldier's Peak and Eideann gives Morrigan a present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.
> 
> Note to Subscribers:  
> This is only Book 1 of a series, and soon will switch to Book 2. When that happens I will post a link, but if you are a subscriber, you may want to subscribe to the series [Dances in Darkness](http://archiveofourown.org/series/241561) instead of just Book 1 (provided you do want to keep reading of course). ~HigheverRains

The world had stopped. The only thing that told him time still existed was when the demon came to him, always Solona now, with her swaying hips and her bright blue eyes and her hair in waves the color of blood. 

Maker.

His throat was drier than he had ever remembered. He felt weak and dizzy all over. His blood felt aflame with lyrium withdrawal. He could not tell vision from reality anymore, and he was frightened to realize he did not care. And then he was not frightened anymore, just resigned to his fate. Death would bring peace. Death would be a relief.

His stomach had gone beyond hurting. How long had it been since he had had food? The Mages had been by a few times, traversing the long steps to the kitchens, surrounded by demons and the twisted forms of Abominations. Sometimes they had left him something, jokingly, jeeringly, like they knew what it would cost him to take anything they offered. Other times they ignored him entirely, like he were a pet in a cage to torment on occasion when they had a free moment. 

The demon wrapped its arms about him each night, murmuring quiet promises in his ear he could not ignore, until his body ached against his own volition, until his mind burned with the swell of bated passion, until his heart beat so hard in his chest it hurt and he wanted to die. He wanted her. Solona, not the demon. He wanted to go back, to pull her into an empty chamber and kiss her breathless. He wanted to know every inch of her flesh, taste and touch her everywhere. 

She was dead.

The demon knew it, but still it came, taunting him, and in the madness of lyrium withdrawal he could do nothing to stop it. His own mind and body was betraying him at every turn, and anger at himself, desperation at the situation, everything…

It was too much.

The door to the corridor opened, and he struggled to remember if any of the mages had gone downstairs. It was not Uldred or his lackeys or any of their Abominations who entered, however. Cullen rose up on his knees, desperate to fight whatever this was, to find a moment of peace with the Maker before he slipped away.

Four people approached, one a Circle Mage clad in the red silk of the Senior Enchanters. The other three he had never seen before. A woman with red hair – Maker, Solona! – who carried a recurved bow considered him with gentle eyes full of pity. The other two were in grey iron scale mail, a man and a woman, both with lighter hair. The woman lowered the swords in her hands as she approached. 

What was this?

“This trick again?” Cullen whispered, feeling his voice cracking on his parched lips. They split beneath the words, and he tasted blood, and he wanted to cry but refused to give the demons the pleasure of seeing him do so. “It won’t work. I will stay strong…” It sounded more like begging than standing strong, and he hated it. Please, let it be done.

“A Templar,” the blonde woman said in a voice he had never heard before. Demons drew from your memories, your thoughts. This was new. “And it seems he is a prisoner.” 

“The boy is exhausted,” came the elderly reply from the Senior Mage. It was a blood mage, he knew, or an Abomination. How else would a mage still be alive in this Tower? He could not trust any of them now. “And this cage…I’ve never seen anything like it.” She reached out as if she would touch the light barrier, but then stopped, her eyes sliding to him. “Rest easy…help is here.”

_A trick! A trick! IT’S A LIE! IT’S A TRICK!_

“Enough visions! If anything in you is human…kill me now and stop this game,” he spat. He was shaking, his clasped hands unsteady. He was on his knees because he could not rise. Maker. 

“He’s delirious,” the red-headed woman said in a funny accent. “He’s been tortured…and has probably been denied food and water. I can tell.” She reached for her pack. “Here, I have a skin of – “

“Don’t touch me!” Cullen screamed, forcing himself backwards until he had space between the edge of the barrier and the demons. “Stay away! Sifting through my thoughts…tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have…Using my shame against me…my ill advised infatuation with her… a mage, of all things. I am so tired of these cruel jokes…these tricks…these…” He trailed off, feeling tears like pinpricks in the corner of his eyes.

 _Don’t cry,_ he thought ludicriously, _You’re too thirsty._ What nonsense.

“This is no trick,” the blonde woman said, sheathing her swords and turning to consider the steps up to the Harrowing Chamber. “We’re here to help.”

“Silence…” he breathed, begging. “I’ll not listen to anything you say. Now begone!” He forced himself to rise on shaking limbs, determined to end strong at least.

But nothing happened. They just kept looking at him, the redheaded one with pity, the man with a somber expression that said he knew too well the nightmares that plagued his dreams. The blond haired woman was glancing sidelong at him now. Her hair was short, falling about her face.

“I am real,” she told him softly. “And I am here to help you.” For a moment, the calm nature of those words washed over him. She had not vanished as the demons always did. She was hardly paying attention to him at all. He was not the center of attention here. He grimaced.

“Don’t blame me for being cautious. The voices…the images…so real…” Maker. Was she real? Where they all real? He was struggling to stay standing, but determined to try now he had managed it. Even if it killed him. Any death was better than this torment. He forced himself to think, ever nerve singing with need for the blue gold that set his mind alight. Instead he focused on the woman who had crossed her arms now, examining the cage from a safe distance. If they were not mages, and he was still uncertain, how had they gotten this far.

“Did Greagoir send you?” he asked weakly. Believing it now seemed so easy, so simple. Just believe, and let it end. He surrendered to the lie and let it go. If it killed him, at least it would be an end. “How did you get here?”

“We’re Grey Wardens,” the man said quietly. “We’re trying to save the Tower.”

“We defeated everything in our way,” the woman said. “Now it is Uldred’s turn.” It lit a fire within him to believe that it could be true. He narrowed his eyes with determination, feeling a little stronger for it. 

“Good. Kill Uldred. Kill them _all_ for what they’ve done.” The woman just considered him a moment, her eyes flat and expressionless, and then she drew a slow breath.

“Where are Irving and the other mages?” Confusion raced through him. Other mages? Was she hear to help the blood mages then?! He felt the anger burst out.

“What others?! What are you talking about?!”

“Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred,” the Senior Mage said simply. “Where are they?”

“They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out from there…oh, Maker…” He thought of the recruit torn apart by the Knight. He thought of the old man murdered with the blood left from the slaying. And he wanted to be sick. 

“We must hurry,” the Mage said, looking to the other three. “They are in grave danger, I am sure of it.” Grave danger? They were in on it. They were evil themselves. All Mages were evil. All Mages…

“You can’t save them. You don’t know what they’ve become,” he said to the blonde woman who appeared to be calling the shots. He could not look at the Mage, and the redheaded one made him think too much of Solona. The blonde Grey Warden just looked over him with her cool gaze. 

“And you do?” she asked, but it was not a genuine question. It was a judgment. He felt the weight of it and recoiled.

“They’ve been surrounded by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts!” he protested angrily. This woman could not see he spoke sense?! Kinloch Hold – his home – lay in ruins while corpses either rotted or walked its halls! Demons traversed the corridors at will! The Mages had done it all. The Mages were responsible. 

The man in the grey iron scale mail stepped forward, looking to the woman with concerned eyes.

“His hatred of mages is so intense…” he murmured, and Cullen heard the weight of Templar training on his voice and wanted to scream. How could this man of all people not be demanding recompense for what had been done?! “The memory of his friends’ deaths is still fresh on his mind.” Cullen shook his head angrily.

“You have to end it, now, before it’s too late!” he begged, and was not sure whether he meant the situation with the Mages above or if he meant his own life. Either would satisfy him at the moment.

“I will _not_ kill an innocent,” the woman said sharply, and a shadow had crossed over her face. She looked angry, but at something distant, something further away than the Circle Tower and the Harrowing Chamber. 

“Are you really saving _anyone_ by taking his risk?!” Cullen demanded. “To ensure this horror is ended…to guarantee that no Abominations or blood mages live, you must kill _everyone_ up there.” Her next words shook him to the core.

“I would rather spare maleficarum than risk harming an innocent.” Her voice was low, dangerous, a warning he knew. 

“Thank you,” the blood mage at her side said firmly. “I knew you would make a ration decision.”

“Rational!” Cullen cried, willing the barrier gone so he could take the mage’s head off himself. “How is this rational?! Do you understand the danger?!” The elderly woman glared at him.

“I know full well the dangers of magic, but killing innocents because they might be maleficarum is not justice. I know you are angry – “

“You know _nothing_!” he yelled, cutting her off short. The force of his shout hurt his throat more and he had to stop himself. He looked to the man now, hoping he could sway him. Please. Please…. “I am thinking about the future of the Circle. Of Ferelden.” The man shook his head.

“It isn’t as bad as you make it out to be,” he said quietly. The blonde woman nodded her agreement.

“I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore,” he said sharply, then turned his back. “But what can I do? As you can see, I am in no position to directly influence your actions, though I would love to deal with the mages myself.”

“That is part of the problem. You should not love to ‘deal with mages’,” the man said quietly, and he spoke with a voice older than his years in saying it. Cullen felt a wash of anger and shame, but he could not look. They probably were not even real anyway.

“We will deal with you once Uldred lies dead,” the woman declared fiercely. Then she drew her blades again and turned up the steps to the Harrowing Chamber. He heard the doors slam shut and collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

 _Let it end_ , he begged. _Maker, let it end._

***

There were dark screams as Eideann climbed the steps toward the Harrowing Chamber. Flashes of light and the sharp crack of magic echoed through the domed tower floor, the stained glass windows reverberating with the light and the sound. She grimaced, her sword hilts hot in her hands, and looked back to Alistair, who simply fixed her with a look and nodded. 

The Templar at least was ready. 

Wynne had a deep scowl, her red silk robes catching and reflecting the light into orange and purple shadows as she took the steps deliberately. 

Leliana had an arrow knocked and ready.

The screams stopped, the light dissipated, and there was the sound of someone hitting the floor tiles with the thick smack of bodies and bones. 

“Do you accept the gift that I offer?” a voice said quietly, the only sound in the room now, and Eideann’s gaze narrowed. She recognized that voice. She had heard it weeks ago at the war council in Ostagar, right before she swore her house to the Theirin kings forever. She grimaced. Uldred. 

The last few steps brought it all into view. She watched as the mage on the floor tiles twisted, flesh erupted out and upward, cloth tearing as his figure became the grotesque mockery that was an Abomination. Others stood nearby, and on the far side of the room beyond Uldred, bound and quivering and near to exhaustion, where the last of the Circle Mages. 

“Ah, look what we have here,” Uldred said, catching sight of her and offering a slick smile. She felt the presence of her companions joining her, and she crossed the floor to stand before him. Uldred had dark, cold eyes that bore into her under thick brows. “I bid you welcome,” he said in an offhanded way. “Care to join in our revels?” Eideann felt a flicker of anger rise up from somewhere deep with and then contained it.

“I take it you are Uldred,” she said instead, her voice cold, her teeth gritted. 

“Very observant,” he muttered. “I am quite impressed you’re still alive.”

“You’re turning people into abominations,” Eideann said in a dangerously cold voice. He grinned.

“And freeing them in the process. A mage is just the larval form of something better! Glorious!” He was insane. His sharp, hooked nose reminded Eideann a little too much of Arl Rendon Howe’s.

“You’re mad!” Wynne hissed beside her. “There is nothing glorious about what you’ve become.”

“Some people,” Uldred mused, pacing back and forth across the floor, “can be so stubborn.” 

“Say what you like,” Eideann said darkly. “I am still going to kill you for all you have done here.” He gave her a sidelong smirk.

“Resistance everywhere I go! I even have the First Enchanter on my side,” he waved one arm back to the collection of battered and beaten mages behind him. One of them, an elderly man with a defeated look in his eyes, looked up sharply.

“Stop him!” he begged with a voice as thin as old twine. “He is building an army. He will destroy the Templars.” Uldred let out a sharp laugh. Eideann’s gaze slid back to him.

“A sly little fox, Irving. And here I thought he had been starting to turn. That’s enough out of you, Irving.” A spiral of power erupted from his outstretched hand, knocking down the First Enchanter and causing Wynne to cry out in anger and concern. Eideann shook her head. Uldred was watching her with a slim smile, thin lips pressed into nothing. “He will serve me eventually. As will you.” 

“No,” Eideann said simply. “I won’t. I’d rather die.” She meant it too, with every inch of her being, and all that anger solidified into the drive she needed to hate him.

“Killing you would be a waste,” Uldred lamented, but Eideann flipped her swords into a better grip and pointed both at him in a ready stance.

“You die now,” she told him simply, putting an end to the conversation he wanted. 

“Fight if you must. It will just make my victory all the sweeter,” he smiled. Wynne drew close, her staff held ready.

“We won’t forget the Litany,” she said in a quiet voice, and she was ready to use it.

Uldred had become completely possessed, not a twisted Abomination of a mage taken by a demon unwillingly but the fierce true form of a demon and mage in compact. He was three times his height now, a twisting mass of sharp edges and crude beady eyes and horns, roiling and roaring and thundering about on vicious talons. 

“Pride,” Wynne said in a startled tone, and Eideann stared, a little transfixed, at the force of nature that had emerged before them. Pride was the worst of the demons, or so it was believed. Uldred had become the host of a very powerful enemy. 

The Abominations came to his side as well, but Alistair with his trained Smite was able to keep them back. Eideann leapt into action, leaving Leliana and Alistair to guard Wynne. She had never had to move to quickly in her life, wheeling out of the way as giant claws swept at her. She thanked the Maker for the foresight to have cut her hair short for the umpteenth time. If it was still long, she would be blind, and she would be caught. 

She whipped through the smoke of Alistair’s smite as it curled at her ankles and knees, drawing a line through the cloud with her blades. One by one the Abominations fell, shuddering and dying on the floor tiles. 

She could hear Wynne chanting the Litany of Adralla, and the flush of magic that filled the room and circled them all in protective energy leant her strength. Alistair was at her side then, his shield catching Uldred’s claw as she ducked out of its way, and the pair of them began the familiar dance they danced, weaving in and out and around. She could feel her blades sinking into demon flesh, but it felt different from cutting through men or darkspawn: harder, firmer, a reverberating sensation running through the metal into her arm. She forced her blades through with her remaining strength, bringing the Pride demon to its knees, and Alistair did the rest, knocking it back with a fierce thrust of his shield and then ramming his sword home in the creature’s head. Eideann joined him, and as one they cut the monster that had been Uldred down, until black blood pooled on the floor and it gave a final, aching roar of anger, rage, and death. 

Of the mages, only four had survived, and all of them were weakened and exhausted. Eideann hurriedly worked with Leliana to free them from their bonds. Irving rose with help, leaning heavily on Alistair, sounding worse for wear. He considered them with worn eyes, sounding nearly ancient for the ordeal.

“Maker,” he gasped. “I’m too old for this.” Wynne relieved Alistair, who relinquished the First Enchanter into her care and went to help Leliana with the other weak mages. Irving looked Eideann over once he was settled, then grimaced. “I am thankful to be alive. I suppose that is your doing, isn’t it? The Circle owes you a debt we will never be able to repay.” He staggered a little, but shook his head when Eideann tried to help Wynne in supporting him. “Come,” he said after a moment of gathering himself. “The Templars await. We shall let them know the Tower is once again ours.” Eideann nodded, looking to Alistair and Leliana, who had managed to get the other mages up and walking. They were younger than Irving, and all but one was able to walk unaided. The one who was suffering was a young woman with soft brown eyes who was limping along on Leliana’s shoulder.

“Alistair,” Eideann said as they approached, “make sure you’re protecting them when we head down the steps. I will handle the Knight, make sure he does not try anything.” Alistair gave her a dark look, as though he had not considered that part, then nodded. 

Eideann went first, keeping one blade still drawn and sheathing her family sword. She opened the great doors to the floor below, then left Alistair to hold them as the others slowly headed through. She went straight down the steps, determined not to feel tired until she had finished her task, and paused at the bottom to consider the Templar.

He was still kneeling where they had left him, even though the light barrier was now gone. He did not look up until she stood a mere pace from him, and even then it was with a twist of hatred and anger in his eyes.

“You can rise and come willingly,” she told him quietly, “or I can bring you at the point of a sword.” 

“You’ve made a mistake,” he hissed when he saw the mages coming down the steps slowly. “This will be the end of us all. They’re blood mages, tainted and ruined.” 

“I’ll ruin you,” Eideann said dangerously, “if you don’t stand up right now.” He did, but it took effort, and she recognized even if he wanted to he was in no position to attack any of the mages with them. He was too weak, and he was suffering. He had been tortured, and she knew it. “You only have to make it downstairs,” she said in a softer tone, but he refused to meet her eyes.

It was slow going, and on the way down Eideann insisted on stopping to pick up Godwin, the mage that was living in a cupboard. He hesitantly joined them, and even then only when he saw the First Enchanter with the group. He kept looking askance at the Templar in their midst, though, like he did not quite trust him not to draw a sword on them all.

It was the longest trip they had ever made descending those steps in a tense silence with a party of the weary and the wounded. When at last they reached Petra and the apprentices, it was all some of the mages could do not to fall over, and since the room was secure and things were quiet, Eideann decided it was best to leave most of the mages there in Petra’s care. She forced the Templar onward, however, hand never leaving her sword, and Leliana and Alistair handled Irving and Wynne, both of which, Eideann agreed, really were too old for this. 

Best of all, Angus was glad to see her, and came bounding about her heels, falling into step with a great heaving panting and plodding footsteps.

“Good boy,” she murmured as his head butted into her hand to be petted and she felt the soft fur of his head. Even the scent of the kaddis was comforting. She was ready for everything to be done with. 

True to his words, the iron doors were shut and barred, but Eideann had the Templar hammer on them and call out until at last they heard a voice of concern and the doors swung outward. Greagoir considered them, watchful Templar eyes checking for signs of possession, and then grimaced.

“Irving?” he asked, surprised, as the elderly First Enchanter pulled away from Leliana to stand on his own. He almost did not make it, and Greagoir himself reached out to catch him and hold him steady. “Maker’s breath, I did not expect to see you alive.”

“It is over, Gregoir,” Irving said with the weight of a thousand years. “Uldred is dead.” 

But it was not as easy as that. The Templar Knight wanted his say. He looked as bad as all the rest, and his Templar plate was splattered with blood and grime. 

“Uldred tortured these mages,” he said firmly, angrily, “hoping to break their wills and turn them into Abominations.” His brown eyes slid to the First Enchanter. “We don’t know how many of them have turned.”

“What?!” Irving demanded, incredulous even in his weariness. The Knight gave him a dark, unhappy look. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Of course he’ll say that!” the Knight said desperately, looking back to the Knight Commander. “He might be a blood mage! Don’t you know what they did?! I won’t let this happen again!” Greagoir fixed him with a fierce look.

“Ser Cullen!” he interrupted, silencing the Knight. “I am the Knight Commander here, not you.” The Knight looked bitter, turning his face away in anger and crossing his arms. 

“Yes, Ser.” 

“I believe order has been restored to the Circle,” Eideann said quietly, her words sharp and clear, cutting through the nonsense and the rippling undercurrents of anger and fear. Greagoir turned his gaze on her, looking almost as old as Irving for a moment. Irving sighed.

“We will rebuild,” the First Enchanter said, trying to make the task seem less daunting, but the corridors filled with blood and bodies were hard to ignore. “We will learn from this tragedy and be made stronger.”

“I will accept that,” Greagoir finally decided. He considered Eideann and her companions. “Thank you. You have proven yourselves friends to both the Circle and the Templars.” Eideann just gave a small nod. 

“What about the darkspawn?” she asked simply. “I require aid, and the treaties compel – “ At Greagoir’s look she fell silent, her eyes narrowing, realizing it was not nearly so simple. This was a man who would murder children for duty’s sake if need be, and she had restored that duty to the Templars. Eideann recognized in his eyes the intent to break any contract they had to guard the mages now.

But there was better luck with Irving, who stepped forward, weary but determined, and quickly promised the aid of the mages themselves. After all, they had saved the Tower instead of killed every last mage within. 

“I am glad you arrived when you did,” he admitted in his thin voice. “It’s almost as though the Maker himself sent you.” 

Eideann thought with a little discomfort at Leliana’s reasons for joining their group, then pushed the thought aside.

“I am glad we could help,” she said simply. Irving gave the slightest of smiles, recognizing the reticence within her.

“From what Greagoir said, you came here seeking allies,” he told her firmly. “I would hate to survive this only to be overcome by the Blight.” Wynne stepped up to join them, her robes dusty and her look tired and worn. Even so there was the fire of determination in her eyes.

“I have a request, Irving.” Eideann glanced to her at the same time Irving did, a little surprised. “I seek leave to accompany the Grey Wardens.” Eideann felt a little touched at the request. She had seen Wynne first in Ostagar, standing with the mages preparing for war, and the old woman had just survived the decimation of the tower. She was a healer, and exactly what Eideann had wanted when she arrived, and a Senior level mage at that. 

“I would be honored to have you join us, Wynne,” she said quietly. Irving considered both of them, then sighed and allowed it. Then he excused himself. There was still so much to do to fix the tower and to save those who could still be saved. 

“When the time comes,” he said softly, “we will stand beside you.” 

Eideann felt a rush of relief. Her hand found Angus’s soft fur, and she brushed it gently in thought, closing her eyes a moment. Was this what it felt like to rest? She could hardly remember. The first of their treaties was filled. The first was done. She remembered the other part she needed to find: the information on the Dalish. Her eyes snapped open.

“Wynne, can we visit the library? I was hoping to find something in regards to finding the Dalish clans.” Wynne considered the request, then nodded, and so she led them back through the maze of corridors, bloodied as they were, to the tall library stacks where they began to pull the books that were still intact from the massive shelves.

Wynne took the time to go and gather her things to travel with them, and Alistair and Leliana and Eideann poured over tomes until their eyes were sore.

“The Brecilian Forest,” Leliana finally said at last, looking as weak and shaky as the rest of them. She pointed to the book in her lap when Eideann looked up at her with a questioning gaze. “This says they move through the Brecilian Forest. If they are fleeing the Blight, they will probably stick to the river system that runs through the Forest towards Gwaren from Dragon’s Peak.”

It was a start. That was enough.

***

Eideann paid for rooms at a little inn in Crestwood called the Spoiled Princess, which she would have laughed at if she was not so tired. There were only two rooms available, so she took them both and split them between the women and the men. They sat at the common-room table, eating thick stew and listening to the concerned whispered of the townsfolk with sick children and families. 

Morrigan had spent all day concocting poultices and potions to distribute, but it seemed to have had little effect, and what remained Eideann had kept for Angus since they would be battling darkspawn for some time yet. Sten had been busy tracing leads on his sword, so when he at last joined us he looked as dour as ever. He caught sight of them and stalked over, his eyes grim as ever. For a moment he hovered over Eideann with a dark look, then sniffed.

“How do you plan to end the Blight?” he asked simply. Eideann sighed, too tired for this nonsense, and gave him a flat look over her crust of bread. He could not be serious, could he?

“I thought we’d just ask the darkspawn to please leave,” she said simply, and was gratified to hear Alistair almost snort out his stew through his nose in failing to repress a laugh. Sten glared.

“If you hope to slay the archdemon with wit, you may want to arm yourself first,” he said, but it was not necessarily unkindly. It almost felt for a moment he was playing along. Eideann raised an eyebrow. “You say you are a Grey Warden,” Sten added, sinking into a seat beside her where there was a space. “I have heard stories of this order.” He grimaced. “Great strategists and peerless warriors. That is what we hear of the Wardens.” His eyes narrowed. “So far I am not impressed.” Eideann rose, her stew left unfinished, and stood over him, leaning on the table and feeling a rush of anger at him for suggesting it. Then, in her cold voice, she fixed her eyes on his.

“I’m _not_ here to impress _you_ ,” she said angrily, then stalked off, leaving her bowl and half-finished bread on the table. There was silence in her wake, and then the sound of scraping as someone rose. There was the sound of the wooden bowl being collected too, and then footsteps following her on the steps to the rooms. 

It was Alistair, bags under his eyes from weariness. Truth be told, he had done most of the work in that tower, smiting demons right and left and paving the way for Wynne to walk unscathed. Maker, she could not have done it without him. She pointedly tried not to think about the Fade. 

He followed her into the room she was sharing with Morrigan, Wynne, and Leliana. There, he watched as Eideann sank into a seat on the floor, her back against the bedframe. Then at last he passed her the rest of her dinner and slowly took a seat beside her, leaning his elbow on his knee and gazing at the floorboards in front of them as she grudgingly ate the rest of her food. 

For a moment it was quiet between them, and then she at last sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply, quietly, in a voice so meek she could hardly believe it was hers. He shook his head, but did not look at her, simply staring down his own demons and thinking. “I didn’t mean…I mean, in the Fade…Maker, why is this complicated? Why is everything so damn complicated?!” She set aside the bowl, bringing her knees up to her chest and burying her face in them, forcing the anger away. 

Fergus…where was he? Oren, Oriana, so many dead. Maker, how would she ever…how would she…she couldn’t…

She couldn’t think. 

“Is this part of the Joining? Being confused all the time?” He looked up, a little alarmed at her question, and then blinked.

“No, but I think you have a right to be. For what it is worth, though, I don’t think you appear confused at all.” She just shook her head against her knees. 

“What was it like?” she asked him quietly. “What was it like being a Warden with all the others?” Angus, asleep across the room since they had first paid for the space, gave a disgruntled snort and kicked in his sleep before rolling over. Alistair licked his lips.

“I didn’t know them for very long,” he said simply, “but they were quite a group.” There was the sound of fond memories there. “They felt like an extended family. We also laughed more than you’d think. There was this one time…” his smile faded. “Well, you probably don’t want to hear stories about men you didn’t know.” 

But that was exactly what she wanted. She turned her head to look at him, so he could see her eyes. 

“I want to know,” she said softly, so he relented and continued.

“There was this one man who came all the way from the Anderfels, Grigor I think his name was. And Maker, the man could drink! He would drink and drink, but he would never get drunk. One day, he bet us all he could drink us all under the table…” Eideann listened to the gentle lull of his lighthearted story, of the Grey Wardens who had fallen at Ostagar being out-drunk by an Ander with a beard larger than his face. And she felt a bittersweet sadness for those days now gone. 

“We were kin of a sort,” Alistair sighed, considering her. “It doesn’t have to be deadly serious all the time. I’m told that Duncan walked in later and saw us all passed out and Grigor still drinking.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Duncan laughed until he nearly…until…” he trailed off, his eyes glassy, and Eideann caught her breath.

“I’m sorry. This must be hard for you,” she said quickly. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, I suppose so. It just struck me that I have _nothing_ to remember Duncan by. There’s no body, not even a token of his that I could take with me. That must…sound really stupid to you.” Eideann’s mind leapt to her mother and father, to Oren, to Oriana, and to Fergus who had vanished into the Wilds. She shook her head a little too hard, too fast, and felt dizzy as she pushed back the tears that threatened.

“Not at all.” Her voice was quiet, small. She realized in the silence that followed that the happy days of the Grey Wardens were indeed gone. They had vanished before she had ever joined. Even in that regard, there was a lot of work to do. 

She felt so weary.

But she also realized something else in that moment, something she had intrinsically known all along. There would be no peace until they went back, back to Ostagar, back to the beginning, and there would be no peace until Ferelden was made whole. They needed a home, a place to be a refuge, somewhere to come to terms with the weight of that loss. 

Soldier’s Peak, she knew, and licked her lips. 

“There’s somewhere we should go,” she finally said, her voice a little stronger, and he looked to her with an open, silent question. She looked to Angus. “There is an old Grey Warden fortress called Soldier’s Peak,” she told him carefully. “Levi Dryden found the place again, as it has been lost since the days of King Arland Theirin. Loghain and his lackeys don’t know of it, and there could be things to help us there. It will be safe, and it will be ours, and our allies can gather there until we deal with Loghain.” She looked back to him, and his eyes were bright and shining with a hope she dared not tread on. “It might take some work, but I want to reclaim it. For the Wardens. For us.” He considered her, and she recognized he was weighing the options. And then he gave a nod, determined and filled with a ferocious need. 

“We will go,” he said firmly, as if he was the one making the decision. She liked it when he decided something.

“Then that is our next stop,” Eideann said with a sense of satisfaction. She carefully rose, brushing herself off and sighing. “Thank you for following me, for sitting with me.”

“You did well in that Tower. You did what was right. I’m glad it worked out the way it did,” he told her, earnest and gentle. She smiled slightly, dropping her gaze. “And thank you, for being there in the middle of that Fade dream…” His voice was halting, like he had lost the ability to form sentences. “I…well, given all that had happened…”

“It’s your dream,” she said softly. “I won’t tell anyone about it. And I won’t hold it against you.” He just nodded, a little awkwardly, and she noticed he was blushing. 

“I…thank you.” He backed away a little, reaching behind him for the door. “Goodnight, Eideann.” She nodded, solemn.

“Goodnight Alistair.” He pushed the door out and turned.

And almost ran straight into Morrigan.

“Ah. So you were trysting,” the woman said simply, flatly, her voice twisting around the word. Eideann closed her eyes with a sigh.

“No!” Alistair exclaimed. “Get out the way.” He pushed himself past her, leaving the women in the room. Morrigan entered and closed the door.

“He’s awfully foolish not to try,” the witch said flatly. “I have a wonder, if I may?” Eideann motioned with one hand to her to continue as she turned to dig through her bag. Morrigan’s entrance had reminded her. “Those poultices you had me prepare? Why did you bother if you intend to murder the town anyway?” Eideann drew up short, stiffening, then turned around slowly to consider the woman.

“You were spying.” It was not a question.

“Obviously.” It was not really a reply.

“I won’t apologize for it. I wanted to save them if I could. Maybe they still can be saved. But I can’t let the Blight spread and infect all of Ferelden. If it comes to it, then we all must do what must be done.” Her voice sounded hollow, but she knew it was correct. She would not feel guilty over the decision. It was the only one she could have made, however horrible it was.

“A most practical opinion,” the witch said simply, and it did not make Eideann feel better. But she took the time to draw away from the topic by pulling something loose from her bag and brushing it off, turning to Morrigan.

“Here. A gift.” She held it out, a black tome emblazoned with a twisting golden tree. “It was in the Circle of Magi when we visited, and I don’t think they will miss it, since it was in a box.” She had taken it from Irving’s quarters, after she had discovered the damn thing had Flemeth’s name on the inside cover.

Morrigan stared, then slowly accepted it, her tone suddenly reverent and amazed.

“You found Mother’s grimoire?” she asked in a hushed voice. “I had thought when we learned the state of the Tower…but I did not mention it to you…” Eideann just shook her head.

“It has your mother’s name in it. It is yours. And if there is magic in it that can help us, as your Mother’s magic has already helped and your own has, I’d like you to know about it. We need all the help we can get.” There was the sound of footsteps and Leliana’s voice on the steps, and Morrigan closed her mouth instead of replying, simply giving a gratified nod and settling down amidst her own blankets on the far end of the room, the book in her lap, unopened. 

Eideann ignored it all after that, simply giving Wynne and Leliana a weary look when they entered and then burying herself in the covers of the lumpy mattress, feeling that it was strangely too soft after so many nights on the hard ground. 

But at last there was a plan, and she had the support of the Circle stolen from Loghain. It was progress. It was enough for now.

It would have to be.

She was so tired, when she slipped into sleep she did not even dream.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain hires an Antivan Crow to kill the Grey Wardens; Leliana realizes she is being hunted; Eideann learns Cailin left them a chest in Ostagar; the Grey Wardens are ambushed; the group travels into the Coastlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.

Teyrn Loghain was a bulky man with too much armor and greasy black hair. He looked like he had not slept in days, and he was busy drinking his way through the third cup of wine in as many hours that morning. 

His henchman, clad in newly pressed velvet and silk, looked more slimy. And when he spoke his voice sounded like the sort of man you wanted to kill on principle. 

Zevran crossed his arms, watching the exchange.

“I bring word, Sire,” the slimy henchman said grimly. “There are demands from the Bannorn that you step down from the regency.” Loghain was not turning, but he was listening. He was standing very still before the flames of a fireplace that needed more tending. And he was not drinking. The slimy henchman tilted his head to one side. “They are said to be gathering their forces. As are you allies. It appears it will be civil war after all, despite the darkspawn. Pity.” He did not sound even remotely sympathetic, so Zevran was sure there was no real pity. Even so, the man did not appear to like complications. Loghain looked back over his shoulder, and Zevran caught sight of dark bags under his eyes.

The slimy henchman inched forward, nugskin boots making hardly a sound on the floor.

“I also have an interesting report from the Circle. There seem to be Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar.” His reedy voice went hard like needles. “How, I don’t know, but they will act against you.” Hence why Zevran was there.

It had taken him a fortune to win that contract. If he had not been in the vicinity already, he probably would never have been chosen. He was determined to do it, and do it properly, or else take the opportunity at last to cut his ties and run. If the Crows thought him dead…well…he could work with that.

He sank back against the wall, bracing one foot against the plaster and watching the exchange. Loghain was still again.

“I have arranged for a…solution, with your leave,” the slimy henchman said and Loghain looked at last over his shoulder to Zevran. His eyes were dark and empty, soulless. This was a harrowed man, indeed. 

Zevran pushed away from the wall to join them in the center of the room, hearing the creak of leather from his worn armor. He sized up both of them unconsciously, just in case he needed to run, and then grinned at Loghain who did not return the favor. 

“The Antivan Crows send their regards,” he introduced himself. That was all a client needed to know, after all. The Antivan Crows were known throughout Thedas. The individual names did not matter.

Loghain looked between Zevran and the lackey like they were stupid, then turned away, shaking his head.

“An assassin?!”

“Against Grey Wardens we will need the very best,” the henchman interrupted, “sire.” It was almost an afterthought. Ah, so there was tension there. Good to know. Zevran gave a soft laugh.

“And the most expensive.” Loghain did not like his joke. He downed the rest of his wine in one go, then glared at them both.

“Just get it done,” he said sharply, turning his back on them. Figuring that was the end of it, and seeing the henchman bow at the back of Loghain’s head, Zevran stepped backwards, bowing out of the room with a grace only an Antivan could muster.

He took his leave then, and went straight to the brothel to figure out where he could find a team of layabouts desperate enough to stage a plan. If the Wardens were last seen at the Circle of Magi, he would have to intercept them. It was time to gather information, and earn that payment, or earn his freedom. 

One way or another…

***

That night she dreamed again of Marjolaine, of soft black hair and wicked eyes, of love and lust and betrayal, and in the morning she felt worse for it.

She had been on guard since telling Eideann about being a bard. The woman had figured it out easily enough, since she was a noble and trained in the Game, for all that the Ferelden Game was a pale shadow in comparison to the inner workings of Orlais. Even so, it made her nervous, to be so exposed, to be so uncertain.

Marjolaine still lived, still roamed the world, and she would not let her go free if she felt threatened. 

And if there was one thing she had come to know about Marjolaine, it was that she always felt threatened.

So she was quieter the next day while they packed their things and broke their fast (where did Eideann get the money to feed them all from?), and when the time came to get on the road, she found that she was so anxious it was painful to consider it. 

They were still accompanying Bodahn and Sandal’s wagon northward, but it was on that day they finally parted ways, letting the dwarves press on towards Denerim on the main road. Eideann was more tense the further north they drew, as if she was hesitant to go into the mountains of Highever and the Coastlands at all. Where they were going was anyone’s guess, but Eideann led them onward, and Alistair was walking now at her side, solid and silent and strong.

What an odd pair, the two of them, the Wardens. She was some noble, forced into the role, and leading like she had an entire army at her back. And he was an ex-Templar, a former brother of the Chantry, but had no love of that life, and was genuinely interested in simply following. He laughed too much, and she laughed too little, though when they laughed together it seemed like the world was right again.

Leliana felt unsettled. There had been a time when laughing together had been something she and Marjolaine did.

They kept to the road, travelling northward, stopping only to camp. Eideann was pushing onward at a strong pace, as if driven by the determination to arrive wherever they were going. It was almost a relief then when they ran into the forests of the northern Bannorn and had to slow down.

Or it was, at least, until things went wrong.

They were just within the forest when the ambush occurred, and it was just like she had always imagined it would be. An apostate mage fired spells down on them, and Qunari mercenaries managed to waylay Sten who furiously hacked away at them as if he had a personal grudge. Leliana slipped up the embankment, determined to bring their leader down, only to find Eideann moving at her side, determined to do the same. Together they peppered the group atop the hill full of arrows and sword-wounds, and the leader of the group went down, held at mercy by Eideann’s sword. 

Eideann stood over him, and Leliana crossed to join her, her eyes narrow and dark. She could see Shale stomping up the hill across from them, glowing with the odd crystals that gave the golem power, and decided they should end it before the golem gave in to its incessant need to squash people.

“Don’t kill him,” she said darkly, hearing the old tones of the bard rising in her voice, banishing the Chantry sister into the distance. 

“Why not?” Eideann asked her suspiciously, glancing sidelong at her.

“He is no common bandit,” Leliana explained, shaking her head. “None of them were. Their weapons and armor are of fine make, and they are well-trained.” Eideann nodded, slowly moving her sword away a little. The leader on the soft grass of the forest floor shook his head. “You know what I am talking about, don’t you?” Leliana said sharply, peering at him. Eideann sheathed her swords and crossed her arms. Shale stood over the man now. They did not need weapons. “Who are you?”

The leader tried to rise, then thought better of it as Shale moved imposingly above him. 

“Someone who regrets taking you on. Was told it would be an easy job. Kill the little red-haired girl, deal with the others as we pleased,” he admitted, eyeing up Shale hesitantly. The golem stared down at it, sturdy stone and bright runes glowing, and sniffed.

“Tell me if it wishes it crushed,” it said simply. The leader of the attackers wilted.

“Kill the…you came to kill me?” Leliana asked. She had, until that moment, thought they were there because of Eideann and Alistair, hunted as they were by Grey Wardens. But her…there was only one person who would want her dead. Her brows knitted.

“Who is trying to kill Leliana?” Alistair asked, confused and concerned. Wynne was crossing to join them now too, Morrigan in tow. Sten stood at some distance, scowling like usual. 

“I don’t get paid to ask why someone wants someone else dead!” the leader insisted hurriedly as Shale moved threateningly above him. “I just need to know what to do and where to get my money!” He scoffed. “Ha! Money…I’ll be lucky to get away with my life, it seems. Maybe we could work something out?” His eyes were watching Leliana now. “You’ll like the idea.” 

“Speak quickly,” she said darkly. Eideann still had her arms crossed, but she had drawn a knife at her belt, and that was disconcerting enough. 

“I’ve no real quarrel with you,” the man explained. “Wasn’t me that wanted you dead, but I know how to find the one who does.” 

“Your life for the information then,” Eideann said simply, sliding the knife away again. “I’m feeling generous.”

“I have some directions written down on how to get to the house. It’s in Denerim. Here…” he dug into his armor and drew forth a slip of paper where an address was scrawled in a spidery hand. “It’s the best I can do.” Leliana bent to take it quickly, recognizing that handwriting. It couldn’t be…and yet…it had to be. Marjolaine. She turned away, motioning for him to get up.

“Leave,” she said flatly. “I never want to see you again.” The man needed no second urging. He was up and gone before there was another word, fleeing Shale as quickly as possible. Eideann glanced to her.

“It’s Marjolaine,” Leliana said softly, mostly for her own benefit. “It has to be.” Eideann simply stared, waiting for an explanation. Her arms were still crossed. Leliana sighed. “I came to Ferelden and the Chanty because I was being hunted in Orlais. I was framed,” she said quietly, “betrayed by someone I knew and thought I could trust: Marjolaine. The skills I learned, I used to serve her, because I loved her, and I enjoyed what I did. Marjolaine had been selling all kinds of information about Orlais to other countries. It was treason. I had always assumed Marjolaine operated only in Orlais. It was an unpleasant surprise for me. I should have left well enough alone,” – how was her life story coming out now? So much at once. Eideann’s gaze was fixed on her, listening, drinking it in, and she could not stop now – “but I didn’t. I believed in her, and kept believing until they showed me the documents, altered by her hand,” she lifted the scribbled message the leader of the attackers had given them, indicating the writing, “to make _me_ look the traitor.”

“What happened then?” Eideann asked quietly, and Leliana looked away, unable to meet her gaze as she finished the story. 

“The Orlesian guards captured me…did _terrible_ things to make me confess. It was a _traitor’s_ punishment I endured, and at the end of I all that remained was an eternity in an unmarked grave. But the skills Marjolaine taught me were good for something at least. I did _not_ seek Marjolaine out, but if she thought I was coming for her, she’d have me caught again.” Her eyes slid to the dead mercenaries hired to kill her. Eideann was silent a moment. Then she finally drew a breath, uncrossing her arms.

“What do you wish to do?” she asked, and the question startled Leliana, who looked up sharply. But it was a sincere question, a real statement, and Eideann’s eyes shone with that fierce fire she had whenever her mind was set on something.

“She needs to answer for what she’s done to me,” Leliana heard herself say, as if it was someone else’s mouth. Eideann gave a nod, as if that was all that it took, and then motioned to them all. 

“Come on,” she said, “let’s push on. We don’t want to get stuck here when night falls.” Leliana put away her bow, feeling unsettled but resolute, and did not speak again.

***

Eideann was running a whetstone over her blade, perched on a felled tree and wondering again at life in general, when Wynne came to sit with her that evening. It was a clear night, the stars shimmering high above them through gaps in the trees, and she could feel the weight of the forest in the air. It felt good to be where the air was growing cold again, even if the north was not safe. She moved over to allow Wynne room to sit beside her, but did not stop running the whetstone down the blade of the family sword and her own blade, focused on her task.

For a little while, Wynne just sat and watched her work, listening to the sounds of the crackling fire and Leliana and Alistair discussing the finer points of Alistair’s cooking. It was an amusing enough exchange, well worth being quiet for, as Alistair extolled the virtuous of all version of Ferelden stew being grey and tasteless. Leliana just wanted to know what on earth he was putting in it, as she could not even tell.

When they at last died down, Wynne gave a soft chuckle to herself, then sighed, glancing to Eideann again.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did back at the Circle. You saved many lives that day. Irving was right when he said we were in your debt.” Eideann just shook her head.

“No one’s in my debt for doing the right thing. I make my decisions because I have to do so. It was the right thing to save anyone I could. It was not the right thing to kill everyone over a fear of demons.” Wynne considered her in silence a moment, her hands folded in her lap, old and wrinkled. Then she nodded to herself like she were making up her mind. 

“I would like also to thank you for allowing me to accompany you.” Eideann smiled slightly.

“Why didn’t you want to stay at the Tower, help rebuild?” she asked quietly. It was not meant to be a cruel question, just an honest one, and Wynne took it as such. She smiled slightly.

“The Circle is in good hands,” she replied. “I do feel I left things unfinished at Ostagar. There is so much left to do, and I would be part of it.” 

“Well, I am glad for your company,” Eideann said sincerely, laying aside her family blade and taking up her personal sword. Without Wynne, she would never had made it this far. The elderly mage was proving herself more than capable at handling a support capacity. 

“The Grey Wardens…all two of you…need all the help you can get,” she laughed softly. Eideann paused at her sharpening to fix her fierce gaze on Wynne’s gentle blue ones a moment.

“I just wanted to make sure you really wanted this,” she said softly, worried. After all, a sojourn into the midst of a darkspawn horde was unlikely to prove a cup of tea and a nice holiday.

“No, of course I don’t,” Wynne said simply, surprising her. “Actually, I’d rather be in a warm chair in the sun being served pudding or some other easily digestible food.” Eideann smiled slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“I know,” the mage said warmly. “I was just teasing. But to allay your fears, yes. I am sure this is what I want.” 

Behind them, Alistair gave a curse as he burned his fingers on the cooking pot, and Wynne rose to help him before there was too much trouble. They all sat about then, picking at their food, determined to eat something.

Leliana was still quiet, pondering the events of the day, and her story had been a rather deep one. It was not unexpected, not really, for a bard to flee pursuit into the arms of the Chantry. But it was a difficult hiccup in their plans. Eideann wanted to help her, in fact she needed to as Leliana was one of the only people she would be able to use during her confrontation with Loghain on a political field, but they could not visit Denerim yet. Loghain’s stronghold was impenetrable without better support, and so the issue must rest unfinished for the time being. 

Eideann hated leaving things unfinished. She admitted to herself once again she did not have patience.

“I have learned of a man who may have my sword,” Sten said suddenly, and they all looked up a little surprised he had spoken. Even Morrigan tore her nose from Flemeth’s book to look intrigued.

“Oh?” Eideann asked quietly, and Sten looked to her, Qunari eyes as flat as ever. 

“A man who was picking over a site admitted he had been told of the location by a scavenger named Faryn who had already emptied the sight of anything of worth. He said this Faryn was to be found near Orzammar now. I wondered if we might look for him when we went to proposition the dwarves for aid.” Eideann blinked, then nodded after a moment of considering the others.

“Of course we can ask for him,” she said simply. “But only if you stop calling me unimpressive.” Sten just gave a barest twist of a smirk and fell silent.

Eideann decided she liked the Qunari a little. 

She had intended to retire to her tent with Angus, but Wynne stopped her before she could enter, demanding rights to wash the dog. Angus, who was obviously smelly from the Kaddis, gave a whine of disappointment, determined to avoid it at all costs, and since the scent of Kaddis was something of home, Eideann adamantly refused the offer of soaps and shampoos. Their camp was beginning to become a veritable circus. Wynne suggested the dog sleep by Alistair as far from her as possible in exchange, which seemed fair, since Angus seemed to really like Alistair, and Alistair seemed to tolerate Angus. So Eideann gave in and sent him to the other Warden with a laugh, then entered her tent alone.

She regretted it almost immediately, feeling very alone in her tent. It was the first time since Highever she had been without him, and even though he was not far away, she missed him. So she lay awake, listening into the night, as Alistair held a quiet conversation with her dog in his own tent.

“Just how smart are mabari supposed to be, anyway?” he was saying quietly. “Do you understand everything I say?” Angus gave a gruff and Alistair sniffed.

“Oh, is that so? You could just be listening to the tone of my voice.” He was in his tent, and she could tell from the proximity that Angus was beside him, probably smelling up the covers. “You could be an utter moron, for all we know.” Angus gave a dark growl.

“Hey, now. There’s nothing saying that a moron can’t be cute and adorable. Who’s the cute and adorable puppy?” Another happy bark. “Ah, ignorance is bliss, isn’t it? That’s what the Chantry kept telling me, anyhow…”

And on it went, until it felt like Angus was there with her, and Alistair was talking to him in her own tent. She drifted off to sleep like that, to the tones of him speaking softly to her dog, who had buried himself in with the other Grey Warden. And it felt nice all around.

***

After that evening, Eideann felt herself growing wary. She checked the map often, aware she was beginning to walk in lands where she would be recognized. Worse still, the forests here and the twisting hills belonged to Bann Loren, and she thought sadly of Dairren and Landra Loren, dead at Highever under the auspices of Arl Rendon Howe. She had not seen Bann Loren’s troops at Ostagar, and she had no desire to speak to him now. 

It felt odd to walk those woods when she knew damn well she could have been the lady of them once. She felt a strange sense of ownership, of responsibility, false and unnecessary. For all Bann Loren had sworn allegiance to Highever’s Teyrnir, these were not her lands, but his.

She knew him as a very fickle man, changing his allegiances as necessary, unable to stand against the tides of men and politics that brought so many down. He survived by being fluid, failing to stand on his own opinions. It had cost him his wife and son at Highever, but she was not certain he would welcome her. If he saw Loghain has having won, he would turn them in on site.

She was careful then to give Caer Oswin a wide berth, and was surprised when they encountered several of his guards in the woods. A man was with them, dressed in common clothing, the sort that went under armor, and he was bloodied and beaten, sporting a black eye.

She knew that man, one of Cailin’s retainers at Ostagar. He had stood by as guard on the meeting. And Bann Loren’s men were surrounding him, swords drawn.

Had he deserted? Which side was Bann Loren on now? Should she intervene?

She did not get the chance to decide. One of the guards stepped forward, ramming his blade up to the hilt into the man’s gut, and leaving him bleeding out on the ground. 

And then they saw the group. One of them noticed, and an arrow came thudding into the tree alongside Eideann’s head. She ducked down out of sight, and Sten, Alistair, and Shale went charging down the embankment towards the group while Leliana took up a stance to provide cover with the two mages. 

Bann Loren did not train his men well, and never had. It was over in a matter of moments, and Eideann picked her way down to the dying man to kneel beside him, her swords in the grass beside them. She gathered his head onto her lap, stroking his hair. He looked at her, pain in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he breathed with effort, contorting in pain. “I did not expect them to notice my escape so quickly. Now I am a dead man.”

“You aren’t dead yet,” Eideann said quietly, still stroking his hair. He would be soon. She knew the comfort in her touch and did not stop. One of his hands reached to clasp hers. For a moment, it was not this guard’s face but her father’s she saw, and she pushed the image away angrily.

“You were there,” he said with effort. “At Ostagar.” She nodded. Wynne and Alistair had come to join them, and Wynne tried her magic, but then stopped, shaking her head to Eideann. No use. “Grey Wardens.” The guard gasped. “One of Duncan’s recruits. Cousland. I was to guard the king. He was my friend, understand!?” He said it so fiercely she thought the effort alone would kill him. “Maker, all that time in Bann Loren’s prison, and I couldn’t stop thinking about all they suffered that dark night at Ostagar!” His eyes were clouding over a little. She kept stroking, even though his grip on her other hand was so hard it was painful. 

“We don’t always get to choose our deaths,” she told him quietly, knowing the truth of it would probably not help ease the pain.

“No,” he said, calming slightly. “Perhaps not, but I’ve been given a chance to set things right. The King…”he broke contact and reached up to her until she took his hand in her own again. “The King entrusted me with the key to the royal arms chest. If anything were to happen to him, he said, it was vital I deliver it to the Wardens.” Eideann stilled. An arm’s chest? Surely there was more to it than that though. Something that could help against Loghain. Or else Cailin would never have made sure that message was passed along.

“Do you still have this key?” He gave a hopeless laugh, which became a splutter of blood as he coughed. Then he took a few deep, labored breaths.

“But you said Cailin entrusted it to you!” Wynne cried. Eideann silenced her with a quiet look.

“I was afraid,” the dying man admitted. “I stashed it in the camp. Please…it’s probably still there…”

“Where?” Eideann said, squeezing his hand in her own. It was vital. She just knew. There was something there…something…

He told them then where he had hidden it, in a halting voice. “Please, the king’s documents can’t fall into the wrong hands. And his sword is too powerful to be pawed over.” Eideann nodded, making him a quiet promise sealed by his dying breath. She sat with him a few moments longer, until at last his labored breathing stopped, and he stilled. Then she carefully reached to close his eyes and moved to stand back. Wynne burned the body, setting it aflame with magic with hardly a motion. For a moment they stood and watched. And then Alistair drew close.

“You’ll take me along, won’t you?” he asked, as if it were even a question. 

“Ostagar still haunts my dreams,” Wynne admitted quietly.

Eideann looked away, staring into the woods of Caer Oswin. Those documents would be valuable, as would King Maric’s sword. The proof of Loghain’s treachery would be found there, and more. By now, news had probably reached Loghain about the Circle of Magi and surviving Grey Wardens. 

Ostagar was one of the last placed he would expect them to go. She did not want to venture so far into Darkspawn lands when she knew that they needed an army first, but that did not mean she was giving up on the idea. They would go back, but not yet. Soon, but not just yet. There had to be a stronger force, in case Alistair and she fell. But she looked back to Wynne and Alistair, her eyes like stone, and nodded. That was enough. 

***

The spot was, quite literally, perfect, with a narrow valley, some ready-to-fall trees that needed only a push, and lots of spaces for his accumulated archers to stand and fire. It was a death trap, exactly as he wanted.

He turned to Elivia, the mage he had picked up in the backstreets of Denerim, and she gave him a smile. The lass was determined for a tumble…well, perhaps when this was done. But first, he needed to catch the Wardens, and until his work was done there would be no time for pleasure.

He instructed his men to tie up the horses, a mismatch of Ferelden Forders, Antivan Taslin Striders from the Crows, and a rather grumpy Amaranthine Charger he had picked up on the way north. That one did not like people. They were all corralled into a small clearing further up the path and left to graze while the rest of the trap was prepared.

Zevran slew the oxen that had dragged the cart he had stolen from a nearby farmhold, and they died with lowing sounds, their blood soaking into the grass at his feet. Then he directed Elivia to set fire to the carts, so smoke billowed from the rags and grease he had thrown into the back. Best to attract a lot of attention.

He heard the noise of a rider approaching, and watched as his scout came thundering into the clearing on another horse. 

“Signs that they’ll reach here in a few hours,” he said grimly in report. Zevran nodded, then directed him back to the horses and their camp. Good, he had gotten good information.

Once had had hired this team in Denerim, he had received word from a Crow scout that the Grey Wardens were travelling northward along the North Road into the Coastlands. He had no idea where they were planning on heading, but he had set off immediately to intercept them, and after much hard riding had encountered a scout waiting. Still north, still on the road. So he knew they would be heading here.

The Coastlands were treacherous. It was difficult to find paths through the mountains, even the lowlands where they were on the North Road. He had heard one of the wardens was a native to these parts, so he had been careful to avoid alerting them to trouble. After all, she could easily scatter into the hills. 

Regardless, the Wardens were apparently on foot with their little party, and he had the advantage of numbers. One way or another, it would be over soon.

He lounged about in the shade under the smoky sky from the slow burning fires, nursing a bottle of Antivan brandy as his men bet at cards. This was the last time, he decided. There would be no more after this. He would take this money and go. Somehow.

The sun was setting low on the hills to the west when at last he heard the hum of false birdcall announcing that their prey approached. He motioned to Elivia who hurried off up the road, and then positioned his archers along the ridges around the small clearing. Smoke still poured from the burning carts, but the slick blood from the oxen had dried and they would not slip on it now. 

The Grey Wardens were an eclectic group. Elivia came jogging back around the corner, smirking, and gave a nod. The Grey Wardens approached warily, with a damn Qunari in tow, and two mages only one of which was dressed, and how very odd they all looked stood together. And there was a mabari of course, because they were Fereldan and that was some sort of rule apparently. 

The tree trunk came crashing down, blocking their escape, and Zevran gave the signal, peering at the Grey Wardens, clad in grey iron scale mail at the front of the party. Maker, one of them was pretty. He grinned.

She danced a fair dance as well, meeting his blows as he struck, and almost putting him on the defensive. That was interesting, but then Wardens were meant to be skilled warriors, so he should not be surprised. They clashed, broke apart, and then clashed again.

He saw the arrow blossoming in his side before he felt the searing pain of it ripping through his flesh. He staggered, caught off guard, and tried to dodge, but his movement was impaired. The Grey Warden woman cut him down, her blade sliding easily through his armor, and he felt the cold steel pierce his gut.

The next thing he knew he was groaning, feeling the cold wash of a healing spell at his side where the arrow had been, and the entire group of Grey Wardens was stood over him, looking dark and annoyed and generally unfriendly. 

There was a red-headed archer there, the one who had shot him, and that beautiful Grey Warden was considering him with eyes the color of rain. He wanted to see those eyes at his feet, begging, and a smile flickered at his lips before he gave a wince of pain. 

“Oh…I rather thought I would end up dead. Or not wake up at all as the case may be,” he groaned. The spell disappeared and he grimaced because the pain was still there. But it was silly to heal enemies at any rate, so he did not blame them. The Grey Warden above him crossed her arms and glared.

“Well,” he said slowly. “I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

“That,” she said, toying with a knife in her hand, “could be easily rectified.” She had the bearing of a noblewoman, all certain she was right, all poised and curt and demanding. He grinned. 

“Of that I have no double. You must have kept me alive for some purpose, yes?” She did not smile back.

“I’ll ask the questions here,” she said in a low tone, dangerous, like Rinna used to do when she was at the top of her game. He fell silent.

She was no angry at him, he knew. She was angry at the idea of him. They usually were. 

“So, I’m to be interrogated. Let me save you a little time and get right to the point.” He pushed himself up a little, wincing at the injuries he had sustained which throbbed horribly. Then he proceeded. “My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.” 

“I’m rather happy you failed,” the less-dressed mage said flatly, her eyes darkened with kohl. He smiled at her.

“So would I be, in your shoes. For me, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn’t it?” He sighed, all quip and wit, determined to keep talking as much as he can. Talking was not dead. Talking was stalling, time to think. “Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one’s budding assassin career.” 

“Squish it, or it will try again,” came the grim tones of…Maker, was that a golem?

“The Antivan Crows are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done…so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man,” Leliana said darkly. Zevran almost glowed at the reputation. The Grey Warden woman did not look nearly as impressed as he felt she should.

“Who hired you to kill us?” He sighed.

“A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain I think his name was. Yes, that’s it.” She knew him. He saw the flicker of recognition and anger in his eyes. This was not just a contract kill then. It was personal. 

“Does that mean you’re loyal to Loghain?” the other Grey Warden asked, his look equally angry. 

“I have no idea what his issues are with you,” Zevran replied hurriedly, clutching one arm over his wounds and shifting at the pain. Maker, he needed healing. That Grey Warden woman had quite the sword-arm. “Beyond that, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.” 

“So you came all the way from Antiva?” the Qunari asked grimly.

“Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.” He had been on another contract, which he had only just finished, and had been preparing to head home when he had been contacted by Julio, the local Crow contact. 

“You were murdering someone else,” the woman Warden said flatly. “Someone we probably know, all said and done.” He just quirked a smile. A good assassin did not brag about such things so soon. But he did not correct her either. She was right. “When were you to see Loghain next?” 

“I wasn’t. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results…if he didn’t already know,” he admitted. Only one contact with a client, ever, and no more. He thought of the last man, a sly sniveling noble with a wicked look in his eyes and a cruel streak that put Zevran off. “If I had failed, I would be dead. I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.” He looked between them all, a little concerned. But they had bested him, and they had apparently survived the battle in the south. They were doing quite well for themselves, all said and done. He was starting to get an idea. 

“ _If_ you had failed?!” the elderly mage said, hands on her hips.

“What can I say, eh?” he laughed. “I am an eternal optimist.” He noticed the Grey Warden woman glaring and grinned. “Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don’t they?” He gave a large laugh, but he was the only one. No sense of humor. Or maybe he was just nervous. “No, I don’t suppose you’d find that funny, would you?” he muttered, hanging his head a little. 

The Grey Warden woman looked past him, scanning the trees for anyone else. Smart girl. Then she glared.

“You’re awfully talkative for an assassin,” she said simply. He smiled, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely,” he told her glibly. “Since you seem to be done interrogating me, perhaps you’d care to hear a proposal.” Her eyes narrowed to dark slits, boring into him like she were weighing the weight of his soul.

“You tried to kill me.”

“Unsuccessfully. Besides, someone in your position can’t take these things so personally can you?” She shook her head.

“Yes, actually, I can.” He felt a wave of panic and rushed to interrupt her plan. 

“Well,” he said shifting, “here’s the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will.” She crossed her arms, but he doggedly pressed on. The mabari at her heel was slobbering. “Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows paus. So let me serve you, instead.” There was a few heartbeats of silence, and then the woman gave a snort of derision.

“You must think I am royally stupid.” He gave her his best charming look.

“I think you’re royally tough to kill,” he said simply. “And utterly gorgeous.” She was. That was no lie. They did not believe in mincing words in Antiva. But here… “Not that I think you’ll respond to simply flatter,” he covered quickly. “But there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess.” The other Grey Warden had raised his brow archly. Ah, was there something between them? He wondered. He did not like that she did not reply. He swallowed. “What shall it be? I’ll even shine armor. You won’t find a better deal, I promise.” As if it were all that simple.

He could see she was running through things in her head, the way nobles did, planning all the contingencies out in advance the way politics insisted one must. And then, at last, she uncrossed her arms.

“Cross me,” she told him, “And you won’t be so lucky next time.” He felt himself breathe, unaware he had been holding his breath at all. 

“What?” the man Grey Warden said incredulously. Staring at her. “You’re taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?” The woman just gave him a flat look.

“We can use him,” she said in a dark tone that made Zevran’s heart sink and his spine tingle all at once. Oh this woman was dangerous. He wanted to undress her, bare her to the world, taste everything. He pushed all the thoughts away.

“Alright,” the Grey Warden sighed, grudgingly. “Still if there was ever a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.” His amber eyes were narrow, and he was clearly unhappy.

“Having an Antivan Crow join us seems like fine plan,” the red-headed archer who shot him said simply, eyeing him up. She was not just an archer. She had the look of one who played. Her Orlesian accent was proof enough for him. 

“I wasn’t aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers,” Zevran said with his best smile. Her small smile slipped.

“Or maybe not,” she said curtly, turning away.

The others had their own grumbles, but at last he felt the wash of healing from the elderly mage, and his wounds knitted beneath his fingers. He pushed himself up slowly then, addressing the Grey Warden who had not killed him. That was probably where his allegiance was due anyway. 

“I, Zevran Aranai, hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation, this I swear,” he said, his smile gone, all seriousness. It was an old oath, the sort between noble houses in Antiva, and he meant every word. In Antiva, to break such an oath was punishable by death.

Something flashed in her eyes, recognition perhaps. She knew that oath, as he had hoped she would, understood the seriousness beside it.

“I, Teyrna Eideann Cousland of Highever, accept your oath until such a time as I choose to release you from it,” she said, intoning the customary acceptance as if the woman were Antivan. Zevran considered a moment why it sounded familiar, Highever, and then it clicked and he knew why she understood the vow as well as she did. The Antivan Princess Oriana of Antiva City had married into the Highever Teyrnir of Ferelden to secure trade rights across the Waking Sea. This Eideann would have known her. He also filed the information of her title away. Teyrna…that made her equal to Loghain. That was part of the reason that the grumpy, sleep deprived man in battered armor wanted her dead. 

“Loghain knows you are alive, my Lady,” he said grimly. “He will know soon that I have failed in the task he wished done. I would not tarry along the North Road. You are safer in the mountains and hills now. Disappear before he finds you.” It was sound advice.

“Oh we will disappear, alright,” she told him fiercely. “Loghain will face me soon enough. But for now, we are about Warden business. There is a Blight to stop.”

Yes, there was that. He groaned. If he thought the Crows killing him for failing was bad, he had just made his lot worse. Here, he might die even if they succeed. Oh well. _Que sera sera_. 

“Allow me,” he said with a smile, remembering something then, “to be of more service to you.” He led them to the camp in the back clearing where all the now unowned horses were gathered. When Eideann Cousland saw them, her face lit up.

“Horses,” she breathed, as if it was the best gift in the world, and Zevran grinned. 

“At least we will move faster now, no?”

***

And now two of them were being hunted, aside from the casual bounty on their heads for simply being with Grey Wardens under Loghain’s regency. Brilliant. 

Alistair let his Ferelden Forder plod up the ridge, shivering a little from the cold. It was winter now, and the snows were falling in the mountains of the Coastlands. Redcliffe had always been so temperate, so gentle and easy to live in, never really cold. Ostagar and the Wilds had been cold. And it was cold here. And he decided all of Ferelden was cold, and Redcliffe was the only damn exception, and really he was fed up to death of the country. 

He kept his eyes trained on the back of Zevran’s head, trying to work him out. He was too charming, too flippant, and an assassin. At any moment he might try to kill any of them. Again.

Eideann had seemed rather adamant about bringing him along, and he decided she was playing politics again. It all went over his head really, and he had no idea how she kept track of it on top of all the Blights and treaties and nonsense. It made him a little dizzy to think of the amount of things that must go on in her head at any one time. It was all really rather impressive.

They were heading northward now, away from the Imperial Highway into the mountains. The horses were a great help, as were all of the things stolen from Zevran’s campsite. He made a point to remember to thank the Antivan Crows for their generous donation to the Grey Wardens at some point. He had named his horse Dennett after the old horsemaster at Redcliffe who had chased him from the stables in the mornings when he had been caught sleeping in the hay. He liked horses, though he would have been a terrible stableboy. The smell was familiar, though not exactly pleasant, and they seemed to like him back. Dennett was a good horse, and he patted the Forder’s neck as he urged it up onto the next ridge. 

Eideann was leading them, deeper and deeper into the mountains, off any beaten trail, up treacherous looking scree hills until at last they reached the top of a snowy plateau which overlooked all the lands about it. And there to the North was the sea, a dark, slate grey mass the color of her eyes. And he knew then why they called it Cousland Blue, why that gaze was famous, and why she was the Blue Flame. All of the Coastlands were blue, all of the Coastlands were Grey. She was both. And she fit here.

She made their camp that night with hardly any help, as if she were doing it all alone, carrying the weight of the world. She left Leliana and Wynne to cooking, and directed Sten to collect firewood from the pine trees that dotted the plateau. A large stone monolith stood in the center of the plateau, and far in the distance statues of dwarven paragons rose like guardians from the basalt formations, blanketed in cloaks of white and raising great stone axes to guard against invasion. It was like a different world, so strange. 

“Have you been here before?” he asked her, and she shrugged.

“Not here, per se, but all Coastlands are much the same. Once you know the patterns.” They were running low on food, so she vanished for a while into the wilderness, and when she returned she had a brace of rabbits, a wild nug, and two fennecs slung over her back, tied together with thick twine. That would serve them well enough, and she had made the kills clean. 

He had heard Fergus Cousland was tracking the Korcari Wilds at Ostagar because he was the best tracker and woodsman they had. He had not really thought until then to apply the same description to Eideann Cousland. She considered him, all wild barbarian Alamarri for a moment, proud and strong and dangerous, and he felt a recognition within him, a stirring that this was the Coastlands, what it always would be, and the Coastlands and the Wilds were the untouched lands of Ferelden now. Ferelden was wild, Ferelden was barbaric, Ferelden was this proud, this strong. He could feel it coursing in his blood a moment and felt the bond of brothers that linked them all together in that moment.

Morrigan was still studying some book she had gotten from goodness only knew where, but she was closer to them this evening, keeping warm by their fire which blazed like a beacon into the clear and crisp night. The assassin kept himself to himself, except for when he sidled up to Leliana who rebuffed all his advances grimly. Between the pair of them, Loghain may not have to kill them at all.

He glanced out into the night across the hills of the Coastlands, wondering where Soldier’s Peak was. Eideann came to sit with him, considering him a moment and reading what he was seeking in his eyes. She pointed to a crop of mountains about a day’s ride to the north-east. 

“There. That’s where Levi said we would find it. In that valley.” 

It seemed strange at times to think of all the ruins that littered the landscape, the ancient things lost long ago. Would their own castles and towns be such? Between the dwarven statues, and the elven ruins, the Imperial Highway lying in crumbling ruins, and the ancient fortresses abandoned and lost centuries ago, it was amazing they could walk three paces without stumbling on something else old and undiscovered. There was a magic to it, a mystery. He felt the wind blowing over him, crisp and clean, and while he was cold he decided to sit awhile and let that be, bundling in the blankets he would sleep in. 

Eideann did not look cold at all, like she were somehow made for winter, though she would tell him later she was almost always cold, especially after the Joining. She simply had the fire back that drove her onward.

He thought of how tired they had all been after the Circle, how exhausted and drained the experience had been, and he thought also of her defeated look, sitting on the wood floorboards of the Spoiled Princess, her arms about her knees. She was hardly ever so weak or defeated. It was a privilege to be trusted with that, he knew. 

He trusted her. He trusted her judgment, he trusted her leadership, and he trusted she would keep his secrets. 

Soon, he would tell her. Soon he may have to. He suspected that Zevran was probably not there to kill Grey Wardens simply because they were Grey Wardens. It was who they were beyond that, behind that, in the depths of history. They were a threat to Loghain, and when Eideann knew the full truth of it, he felt like there would be a storm to weather and he was not sure he could survive it.

Soon, he told himself again. Soon he would say. But not yet, not now. Let it just be Alistair and Eideann for a little while longer. When that was gone, he did not know what would stand in its place. She was his strength now, he knew, and he needed that to continue. He needed _this_ to continue. 

So he bit his tongue, and said nothing, and looked the northeast. And he bore the cold and ate her strange Coastland cuisine, cooked on spits over roaring fires that melted the surrounding snow. And he put up with their strange companions, two wanted criminals on the run, a golem, a Qunari, an apostate, Wynne, and the smelly dog that had decided it really liked his tent. And he waited, for that moment, when all of that would be lost.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grey Wardens arrive to take back Soldier's Peak; Eideann decides to own her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.
> 
> This is the last chapter of Dances in Darkness Book 1: Eideann. [Visit Dances in Darkness for Book 2: Kirkwall](http://archiveofourown.org/series/241561)

Levi Dryden was waiting for them at a small campsite at the foot of the imposing mountains. They emerged into the small ravine to find him drinking a sack of ale with another man with darker hair but much the same features and larger physique.

“Warden!” he said in delight, hopping to his feet. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.” He introduced them to the man sitting with him, his brother Mikhael who was a blacksmith who had trained under exiled dwarven smiths until his skill was second to none. The blacksmith looked them over, tutted over Zevran’s damaged armor, and proceeded to do the work for free to fix them up while Eideann and Alistair met with Levi about the fortress.

“It’s through these caves,” Levi said, motioning to a nearby dark chasm that opened up into the mountains. “I lit some torches, but they may have gone out as we go up. It’s safe.”

“Aside from possibly bears,” Eideann said, eyeing it up with suspicion. Then she sighed. “How did you find the place anyway?” Levi grinned.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, but pulled a map from his pocket, folded and worn and faded in places, and bearing the marks of a lifetime of mistreatment.

They spent a night at the Dryden’s camp, deciding it best to set off in the morning, and Levi and Mikhael told them all they could of what had been happening elsewhere in the country, and what they knew of Soldier’s Peak.

It was the first time in a very long time Eideann could remember waking up actually anticipating something. She decided only a small group should go, so she set the others the task of seeing their gear was better repaired by Mikhael and collecting anything from the rich flora in the area that could help them replenish their supplies. Since Wynne was a healer, and looked exhausted from their journey, Eideann decided to take Morrigan instead, pulling her away from Flemeth’s grimoire long enough to help. Alistair was obviously going, but she also decided that Leliana’s bow would be an asset. She did not quite trust Zevran yet, and informed Sten he should keep an eye on the man. For some reason she had decided to trust Sten.

The caverns were dark, and dripping with the melt from snows, but Levi’s torches still flickered every so often, marking the way for them. They went slowly, so as not to trip, climbing deep into the depths of the earth until Eideann was sure they’d stumble upon the Deep Roads at any moment. Surely there was a better entrance to this place, a road or a gate, somewhere above? Maybe it had collapsed over time. Maybe the caves had once been better lit, tunnels built for the express purpose of funneling people to Soldier’s Peak. Or maybe this was just the way people came on foot, and Wardens got few enough visitors, that it was better to fly.

She decided that was probably it, imaging a time when Griffons winged over the Coastland Mountains and soared into the Keep from the sky above. That made far more sense, and anyway she allowed herself a moment of imagining the dramatic.

At last, after what seemed hours of walking (but judging by the sun had only been about an hour) they emerged from the caverns into the snowy crater of a dormant volcano nestled in Coastland basalt and the remnants of ancient ash solidified into rock. The entire keep had been built in that crater, with walls of stone, the mouth of the ancient, dead volcano rising on all sides, the perfect protection against a siege.

It rose into the sky, pinnacles and towers, behind a tall, open portcullis, all weathered stone. And Eideann almost gave a laugh at the look of it all. She had hardly seen anything like it.

“I told you the map would get us through the tunnels,” Levi Dryden said proudly. She smirked.

“Admit it,” she grinned. “You were lost a couple of times.” He faltered, then gave a sniff.

“I wasn’t lost, it’s just that the map got soggy.” She gave a soft laugh at it. He considered the keep again and shook his head. “Maker’s breath, look at the size of her! What a fortress!”

Alistair behind her gave a low whistle.

“Soldier’s Peak. Looks like it’s seen better days.” Some of the walls were indeed crumbling, and the entire place was definitely abandoned, but it was a keep, an entire keep, and Loghain would never find it, and it was probably filled with Warden things that could help them. “Better centuries in fact,” Alistair amended.

“Once the Wardens flourished, their caliber certain,” Morrigan sniffed. “Now they even except people like you, Alistair.” He shot her a dark look, but there was not really any malice in it. They were all too amazed.

Eideann walked up the steep path to the steps that led to the gates. She climbed them carefully, as they were covered in snow, and peered into the courtyard. When she was satisfied no wildlife had made the place their home, she took a step in.

And was stopped.

There were ghostly apparitions moving about them unseeing, armored in gear a hundred years out of date, their coat of arms emblazoned on their tabards that of the Theirin kings, but an old version, a snarling mabari instead of the two standing together. The red and gold was instead red and white, a quartered shield on their left breast over their hearts.

They were fighting, swords clashing, with Wardens clad in a uniform that it took Eideann a moment to place. It was not the blue and silver stripes of the Orlesian Wardens that were now common throughout the Free Marches and that she had seen in Ostagar. These were different, and so she had trouble recognizing they even were Wardens until one with the griffon emblazoned on his chest gave a roar and was felled before her.

“Taking the Peak will not be easy, milord,” one of the ghostly apparitions, clad in Theirin guard chain, said grimly. A nobleman, his armor a glittering bronze, narrowed a glare at him.

“I gave the Wardens one chance to die with honor,” he said, his eyes cold. “Instead they hole up like cowards. We follow the King’s advice then, starve them out.” The ghostly guard sheathed his sword.

“But the Peak has months of supplies,” he said.

“Then we wait,” the nobleman commander said. “When they are too weak to lift their weapons, we will send them to their final judgment.”

The ghostly apparitions faded away, and Eideann blinked.

“What was that?” Levi Dryden asked in a halting voice, obviously frightened. The man did not even have armor, just common clothes and a knife. “I felt a bit woozy there…”

“I had the vision too, Levi,” Eideann assured him, but she could hear the concern in her voice. What had happened here? She knew the Wardens had been exiled. But besieged in their own keep? There was more at work she did not know here.

“This place truly is haunted,” Levi decided, shaking his head. Eideann shook her head in return.

“No. The Veil is thin here,” she said quietly, recognizing the same odd sensation she had felt at the Circle. Morrigan sniffed.

“The Fade often remembers what people and places have long since forgotten. This is a shadow of that, replaying into eternity, an echo across the Fade.”

Her words do not calm him.

“The Veil?” he asked suspiciously. “You mean demons. Thank Andraste you came, Warden.” He hesitated then, peering into the courtyard, so Eideann stepped forward first.

The Veil was indeed weak, because demons had crossed over to inhabit the rotting bones of the Wardens and the king’s men that clashed there. They rose, waking, seeking them out, Arland’s men and dead Wardens alike. Alistair smote some of them into oblivion, their bones crumbling to dust at the force. Morrigan forced the life from the rest with a tutting noise like it was nothing.

The weapons on the bodies of the Wardens were tarnished and damaged, but their quality was unmistakable. Their blades were silverite, warded to damage Darkspawn. There was an ancient crossbow in such good working function despite its age that Eideann brought it along. Everything was made to battle Darkspawn, and since there was a Blight upon them now, everything would help. She hoped there would be more weapons within, better protected from the elements.

There were several doors into the Peak, but Eideann chose the main one atop another flight of steps, forcing the double doors inward and stepping into the foyer. The centuries’ old barricades still stood. Arland's men had not occupied the castle when the Wardens had fallen, and fallen they must have.

On the wall there was a proclamation, a Statement of Defiance listing the name of each Warden stationed at the Peak, the name of each Warden that died in the siege. Eideann took the care to read each one, to remember the name written in faded ink on crumbling paper.

There were ghostly apparitions there too, more Fade memories that sprung to life. A woman with a multitude of braids in her short, dark hair, stood in impressive armor, the Warden-Commander. It was Sophia Dryden, Eideann realized, recognizing Levi’s eyes in the woman’s face.

“Men, I won’t lie to you, the situation is grim!” she was saying in a voice laced with command. “But we are Wardens! Darkspawn flee when they hear our horns! Archdemons die when they taste our blades!” she cried. Eideann felt something stir inside herself at the rousing speech. She glanced to Alistair who was listening just as intently, and wondered if he felt the same thing. To the ghostly audience, Sophia Dryden gave her best. “Are we to bend knee to a mere human despot?! No! I propose here and now, where generations of our brethren stood vigil against Darkspawn and evil, in this sacred place, proud men, strong men stood defiant, and we would rather _die_ than submit to tyranny!” Eideann felt a little unsettled. The beginning had pulled her towards the light, but this felt…wrong. She did not yet understand how. Had the Wardens rebelled against the King?

“So brave,” Levi muttered, a little starstuck. Eideann wondered exactly how versed he was in the whole business, and how much he had truly known of Sophia Dryden.

There had been a rebellion, she knew that much. She recalled from Alduous’s lessons and history books that Sophia Dryden had once been the Arlessa, reaching for the throne. She had been sent to the Wardens when she had been defeated and when Arland rose to power. Eideann could taste the tang of politics in it, and it made her feel uneasy.

“King Arland was a tyrant?” she asked Levi softly.

“Not much is known of him,” the merchant admitted.

She remembered her words with Duncan, her quiet warning before they had reached Ostagar, back when they were traversing the Bannorn. _I am a Grey Warden. I don’t get involved in politics,_ he had said. And she had called him foolish.

_The Wardens are always political, whether you like it or not. You don’t have a choice._

This. This is what happened when the Wardens accepted they were political beings.

Eideann felt for a moment like she had been dropped into a great pool of cold, black water. She was playing a political game herself, she knew. Maker, was she seeing her future? Could it be she who gave such a speech? Would it be Loghain banging down her gates? She prayed she had the sense to avoid it.

She repressed a shudder at the similarities and forced it all from her mind.

The first demons rose within the next room, hungry and angry, wanting life and wanting justice for the wrongs done, the blood spilled on those stones. Their presence confirmed that the Veil was weak there, and that dark magic had lingered in the halls. How long it had run unchecked, she could not say.

There were letters on the sideboard as they entered the common room, one from a Bann Wulff begging for Sophia’s aid against King Arland. She left the letters where they were, unsettled and not wanting to touch them, and examined the exits from the room. Aside from the main entry, there were three, and one was barricaded but appeared to lead into a small archives. The other two were shut. She crossed to the first, ignoring the bones smoldering in the fireplace where the rage demons had emerged, and found more of the undead. It was the barracks, housing beds and weapon racks and armor racks. There were soldier’s there, those not wearing Arland’s armor, and she was curious until she found word on one of them they had been sent later to investigate the Peak and found it held demons and darkness even then. That meant that the Veil had been weak at Soldier’s Peak since Arland’s time. It explained why it had remained abandoned. The members of this investigative scouting band had died there. But she did not like what that meant one bit. The demons who dwelled in those halls were centuries old. She swallowed, hard, and shook her head. She was wary enough in the aftermath of the Circle of such things, and this was a much longer amount of time for demons to enter the world and gain a foothold than there had been at the Circle. Who knew how strong the demons there could be?

Each room was coated in the dust of centuries. Cobwebs hung as thick as fabric in some places, giant curtains built over centuries. Bones slowly turned to dust in the halls.

The small kitchen was a mess, the dead piled high here, a last desperate stand made when they had been cut off. Eideann turned away, thinking of Highever and Ser Gilmore’s stand in the Great Hall, and wanted to be sick.

The archive room had only a few tall bookshelves. Some of the books had been pulled from the shelves. Another lay amidst the ruins of an old table that had collapsed, open to a page where a half-written account of what had transcribed had been hastily scrawled. But it was illegible now, the ink faded away, and the pages charred and torn.

“The door won’t hold, Archivist!” Eideann heard a woman say, a mage clad in Warden armor, another ghostly apparition. An old man beside her leaned over the book.

“Almost done! The truth must be told!” he insisted, his voice echoing oddly.

“What does it matter?! We’re dead!” she cried, checking the door was barred and coming to join him.

“Our grand rebellion, so close…and to die here a stillbirth,” he lamented.

“We never should have done it! Warden’s aren’t supposed to oppose kings and princes!” the woman cried desperately, looking near to tears. The door reverberated under the hammering from the incoming force.

“Should we stand idly by while – ?” the elderly Achivist said angrily, but never finished. And then they too were gone. Levi was looking at her in confusion. She did not answer his unspoken questions. Instead she reached to clap him on the shoulder before turning away towards the steps that went to the next floor. There were messages at work to learn from there, and it was about more than just his family name now.

Alistair joined her at the steps, his look solemn. He was holding a shield taken from the barracks, a silverite thing bearing the Grey Warden logo.

“What happened here?” he asked her quietly. She just shook her head. “How is the Veil so thin?” She had no answers, so she climbed the steps in silence.

On the next floor, the keep opened up into a great hall with tall ceilings. It crackled and sparkled with energy from the torn Veil. There were barricades there too, but toppled and broken like the fighting had gone on. Eideann stepped cautiously, warily, until at last the ghosts appeared.

“Make them pay for every inch, men!” Sophia screamed, sword held high. Wardens and Arland’s men clashed in the hall. Sophia cut down one with a deep slash, then looked back desperately. “Hold the flank!” she shouted. “Avernus! We need you!”

There was a mage on the steps, a wisp of a man, who began to chant in a language Eideann did not recognize. He held a knife in his hand, and his hand was deeply cut, blood dripping down his fingers.

The Veil shuddered. Demons sprung from the tear, rising up before him, and he sent them towards Arland’s army.

“Andraste’s tits! What?!” one of the soldier’s said, stumbling backwards in the path of the demon.

“More Avernus! Whatever it takes!” Sophia cried. And they rose, feeding on the blood and the hate and the fear. Until at last they no longer needed to heed Avernus’s wishes. They turned on the Wardens then as well, devouring all in their path, Warden or King’s man. Avernus stared, horrified.

“No! I command you! Fight the King’s men!” he cried. The demon just laughed, drawing close to him.

“Fool,” it grinned, its voice the same twisted dual tone of the demons in the Fade in the Circle. “So much death, suffering, and oh…yes…blood…The Veil is torn now. Your soul is mine, Avernus.” He flung a spell at the demon, throwing it back and looked about desperately to the other Warden apparitions falling about him.

“Acolytes! Retreat now! The battle is lost!” he cried before fleeing up the steps and further into the keep.

Eideann stared at the door where the ghostly apparition had stood, feeling she might be sick at the thought of it. Was that it then? This Avernus, and Sophia, had destroyed the Wardens themselves? And for what? To battle Arland’s men? Arland…who she knew little enough about…who had pressed the Wardens so hard here they had summoned demons to defend themselves?

“What just happened?” Levi asked and Eideann did not look at him for a moment. He crossed to her, shaking his head, as if she could give him answers. “The Wardens summoned demons. I can’t believe it. And my grandmother…she knew.” Eideann was still trying to understand herself, to try and work out her own feelings on the matter.

She had seen the Circle, what blood magic had done there, what it could do. She did not like it. But the Wardens did what they must, and they did not forbid blood magic. She shook her head. This was different. This was not the darkspawn the Wardens faced, when the stakes were the world itself. This was wrong, and from it the Veil had been sundered apart.

“We must press on,” she said quietly, unable to say anything in their defense, unable to truly condemn them. They had been fighting for their life, against a man they claimed a tyrant, who had wanted them to starve to death for the crime of answering the plea of the people.

“I believed my family was better than that,” Levi said, but Eideann said nothing. There was nothing she could say.

The next flight of steps take them to a small corridor where the private study of the Warden-Commander stood. Eideann did not know what she was expecting, but it was not what they found there. Part of her had been prepared for more demons, more death. Sophia Dryden was clearly both of these, standing over the heavy oak desk, arms crossed, still in the Warden-Commander armor she had worn all those years. The metal was corrupted, and so was her body, bearing the signs of the Blight and demons both. She was a possessed ghoul, and she spoke with the voice of the demon.

“This one would _speak_ with you!” she barked angrily through blighted lips. Her eyes were glassy and tainted. Was this what all Wardens became? This…thing…? Eideann felt sick.

“Why should I speak with you?” she asked harshly, her teeth gritted. Just what was going on here? How was she even alive, if it could even be called that? How old was the demon that possessed her?

“Because this Peak is mine. This one is the Dryden. Commander. Sophia. You have slain many of the demon ilk to get here. This one would propose a deal.” Her voice was dual-tone, but slippery like spilled oils.

Sophia Dryden, former Arlessa, beloved of the people, betrayed by the regent, left to the Wardens, rising in rebellion against a tyrant in a cause she believed was just. Eideann felt like she was looking at her own future reflection. She shuddered, then looked to Levi.

“I’m afraid your grandmother is possessed,” she said softly.

“My grandmother is dead,” he assured her, voice fierce. “I don’t know what that is.” Good. That was all she needed to hear.

“Then I’ve heard enough,” she said in her dangerous tone. “Die, demon.”

It was Alistair who finally brought down Sophia Dryden, for the Wardens, and the memory of all they were. But Eideann’s heart was still unhappy. Could she be any different in the future? Would the taint and her own bitterness do the same to her eventually too?

She could not leave without finishing the job, so she forced her mind into calm, pushing all the thoughts away. On the desk, in a battered notebook, she found Sophia Dryden’s journal. She skimmed it, learning of her anger, of her rage, of her pride. That feud with Arland and raged long and fiercely. She had planned to use the Grey Wardens as her army, it seemed, right from the start. She had climbed high in the ranks with one goal in mind: to bring the man down. Eideann set the book down, unable to look at Levi, his faith so misplaced.

Then she recalled the Veil. How would they fix that? Without attention, more demons would come, and there was still the highest tower to clear. When it was empty, she would need to speak to Morrigan and Wynne and see what could be done.

She motioned to the others who followed her in an equally unsettled manner across the floor to the far hall where a door opened up to the parapets that led to the tower. The weather on the ramparts reminded her starkly of Highever, and she let the chill seep into her bones, breathing deeply of it and forcing herself to remember what she stood for and the duty she had to do.

The tower was a laboratory full of strange experiments and blood. Corpses littered the grounds, but they were not felled by Arland’s men. Something worse had happened there where Avernus and the Wardens had fled. Eideann picked through the research notes scattered about the hall, avoiding disturbing any of the sinister looking experiments lest they end up explosive or toxic, and realized that Avernus was what had happened here, and more blood magic.

Blood magic and rage had damned Sophia. Blood magic and Avernus had torn the Veil and destroyed the last of the Ferelden Wardens. She was done with blood magic.

She read the notes quickly, skimming over the more scientific pieces in favor of results and methods. Avernus’s experiments had massacred the last of the Wardens. The magic he had been researching there was not only blood magic but darkspawn blood magic, and he was determined to strengthen the innate powers of the taint within the Wardens. She cast the book aside angrily, not caring that the pages scattered as it flew across the room, and then she swept the vials of blood and whatever else from the tables, sending them crashing to the floor.

Then she stalked up the steps, into the tower proper, her face like thunder.

Avernus was alive, as Sophia may have been, but he was no demon. Dark magic kept him alive, and the experiments. Three hundred years he had toiled away in this tower, torturer and malificar. He turned from his work to consider them, eyes sunken in decaying flesh.

“Even now,” he said simply, “the demons seek to replenish their numbers. Are you to thank for this imbalance?” Eideann glared at him, hating everything he was and everything he had done to the Wardens and the keep there.

“I know your crimes, Avernus,” she spat. “You’re a monster!”

“A monster!? For over a hundred years I have fought them!” he cried. “If I am a monster, it is because I must be one.” He crossed his arms, looking at them all. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to recover the Grey Warden base,” Eideann told him shortly. And that included from him, she decided.

“An admirable goal, but in order to achieve this the demons must be cut off forever.” There was a moment of silence between them. Then Eideann paced across the hall around a table of more research, her eyes dark and angry.

“I’ve seen your experiments,” she said, thinking of the vials of blood and the desiccated corpses he had left in his wake. He was no better than the demons himself.

“They were necessary,” Avernus insisted, descending the steps to her level.

“Necessary!?” It was Alistair who spoke, furious, crossing to join them, his voice like a cool breeze across the hall. “Having the relieve yourself after an eight hour ride is necessary. But there is _no_ excuse for summoning demons!” Avernus turned a sour gaze on him, then sniffed.

“Charming, a Templar,” he said flatly. Eideann put herself between them.

“I want answers,” she said fiercely. She looked back to Levi then, deciding it was best to get that out of the way first. “Sophia’s great-grandson brought us here. Levi, go ahead.” Levi made his plea then for proof Eideann already knew he would not find, and Avernus had nothing to offer. He respected Sophia a great deal, apparently, and it did not make Eideann like either of them any better.

“The demons must be stopped,” Avernus finally said, waving away any further questions from Levi. “Now.” There was time for judgment later, Eideann agreed, when the Veil was mended. Avernus knew how to undo the damage, so Eideann finally cut a deal, earning his cooperation.

“But it is not over,” she told him in a low tone, angry. “There are some things you just don’t do.”

“From a Warden,” Avernus said softly, contemplating her with sorrowful eyes, “that means something.” And then he lead them back across the ramparts to the great hall.

It was pulsing with dark energy when they arrived, like the demons understood their window was almost closed. As if to prevent it, they swarmed against the Veil, pouring out and attacking, even as Avernus began his work. They were forced to watch his back then, battling wave after wave of demons as they flood the hall, over and over. Avernus originally summoned the demons using summoning circles he had built in the hall, and each had to be destroyed before the Veil could be repaired.

It was exhausting, but at long last the final summoning circle blinked out, obliterated by strong magic Eideann could not understand. And it was over.

Avernus stood then in the center of the hall, awaiting her judgment. She considered him and realized he was under the impression she was the new Warden-Commander. She let him think so, since he had tarnished their name so much, done so much damage. If not for Sophia’s rebellion and Avernus’s blood magic, the Ferelden Grey Wardens would have been strong. Ostagar could have been far different. Everything could have been…

Or maybe Arland was truly a tyrant, had hunted them down. She would never know. Either way, what Avernus had wrought there had destroyed the Wardens, and his dangerous magic had torn the Veil wide open. She had killed Uldred for such destruction. Avernus deserved no less.

He begged for leniency, to keep experimenting ethically, but Eideann could not bring herself to trust him to stay clear of more blood magic. The lives of many lay thick on him now, and he must atone for those. She shook her head. And she passed her sentence down with a voice she remembers her father using long ago: death.

But she decided not to be brutal. She instructed him to kneel, and she took his head off with one swing herself, sending it rolling across the floor. He was dead before he even knew it. It was the only mercy she had been willing to give him.

“Well…” Levi said when it was all done, “Soldier’s Peak is safe again.” He shook his head. “A blood mage in the Wardens! Common folk should never hear of that. Some still distrust Wardens, even in a Blight.” Eideann sighed, because she could not see how she could control such information really, not with the Wardens having the reputation they already did. Given current circumstances, it hardly mattered. They were already wanted for treason by Loghain after all, and Levi was more upset over Sophia than a dead blood mage.

“The past won’t offer redemption,” she said softly, fixing him with a look. “Try the future instead.” He nodded then. It took a little convincing, but she managed to get Levi to agree to stay on now they have purged the keep of demons and repaired the Veil. The Drydens were a large family, with many merchant resources, and it seemed fitting to Eideann to let them have a hand in fixing up the place. She could hardly do it herself, with the Blight and a Civil War and all, and help was always appreciated. Levi said he would speak with Mikhael and try and get the place looking better for their next visit.

Eideann sent Morrigan, in bird form, to let the others know it was safe to come and join them. It would still be better to sleep under a roof than in a tent given the snowfall and the cold. Levi and Leliana headed back down the hill to lead the others through the tunnels, so only Alistair and Eideann were left to explore the rest of the keep chambers and find a good place for them to sleep.

They moved through the rooms in silence, picking over old belongings, shoving fading books back onto shelves, and making note of anything they could make use of. A proper clean would have to wait for the Drydens, but there was a certain righteousness that Wardens were going through it all first.

They found the armory further down within the keep, racks upon racks of Warden armor and weaponry laying unused for how long. They exchanged looks, then Alistair smiles slightly.

“Ferelden-style Warden uniforms,” he mused. They were not the blue and silver of Orlesian Wardens. They were black and grey silk, dark silverite, and black dyed leather. Eideann reached to touch one, amazed to find the silk sturdy with quilted padding, and all in such condition.

“Loghain already knows we are alive, or he would not have sent Zevran,” she said, thinking aloud. Alistair considered her, then nodded. “It may help to look the part with the Dalish and the Dwarves.” He was smiling now.

“Try it,” he said simply, and she blinked, then looked back to the silk tunic. “It’s about time we got you a uniform.” There was a warm smile that made his eyes bright now.

Eideann went along the racks until she found one that had the potential to fit her. She hesitated a moment, then finally took it from the rack.

“Don’t look,” she said to Alistair, wherever in the chamber he was. She need not have worried.

“You can’t either,” he simply replied. He was determined to have his own. She smiled slightly, then began to undo the buckles of the grey iron gear they had gotten from Sandal and Bodahn.

It felt strange to take off her armor after wearing it so long, even sleeping in it, and she was hyper aware of Alistair in the room during all of it. She took her time stripping down to her smallclothes, the rough undershirt a worn cotton that probably needed a wash given all the fighting. The Warden outfit came with its own, and she decided that she may as well go all out, so she hurriedly traded hers for the Warden undershirt and immediately felt a sigh as the comfortable grey cotton settled over her body, light and airy and clean. Clean, even after sitting there so long.

She slipped into the black trousers then, and the silk quilted tunic, and then she strapped on the armor, finding the silverite lightweight but fiercely sturdy. She felt better protected than she had in years. The uniform also came with boots, though she had to hunt around for a pair that fit, and even these were made for efficiency. The entire outfit was designed for long treks through the terrain of the Deep Roads, to be functional and serviceable, comfortable and lightweight, but protective.

It felt odd to wear the uniform. It made her feel different, like her priorities were more fixed. The griffon emblem in silverite across her sternum reminded her of the importance of her task. She was using it as a ward, she realized suddenly, a ward against becoming Sophia Dryden, a reminder of what her anger could do if it went unchecked.

She wandered to the weapons racks and carefully hefted a Warden longsword, testing out the grip and finding it suitable and comfortable. And then she carefully set her Family Sword and her own blade aside, buckling on the Warden blades instead. They would prove more use against the Darkspawn, and she had decided in that moment something very important. The Family Blade would be saved for Arl Howe’s head alone, and nothing else. She could no longer be a Cousland. In that moment, she realized that truly being a Warden might cost her everything she had been before, her entire identity. She would keep only a small piece for herself. When this was done, when titles had been leveraged and the Blight was finished, what would be left?

She had no idea.

She heard the sound of Alistair joining her at the weapon rack and turned to look. It felt strange to see him in Warden plate again, even this new sort, and matching her. She considered him a moment, and he looked at her, and then he gave a very slight smile.

“Better?” he asked, and it was the whole world in a question. She gave herself a moment to consider, then gave him a slight nod, and he smiled a little more. “No more hiding,” he said firmly. And that was a decision she completely agreed with.

So she stood there, a Warden crossbow at her back, bolts strapped to her belt, a Warden sword over each shoulder and a Warden knife in her boot, clad in Duty. And Eideann was lost somewhere in the middle. Eideann faded away.

She knew it then, in that single moment. The only thing left, and the only thing there was room for, was the Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **END DANCES IN DARKNESS BOOK 1: EIDEANN**   
>  [Dances in Darkness Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/241561)   
>  [Dances in Darkness - Book 2: Kirkwall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3866974/chapters/8640739)
> 
>  
> 
> Eideann's story will continue! Thank you for reading Book 1! ~HigheverRains


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